There Arose Such a Clatter: Tales from the Naughty List

by C.M. Nascosta

It was the downstairs she wanted, the place where she might find something to fill the gaping hole where her decency had once resided.

“It is not my fault if you are ignorant of the old ways, human. Traditions do not go away simply because they don’t fit into your narrow little world; they simply move over your ignorance. Children naughty enough to be placed on the list are visited on this night, and this child will know the bite of my branches before the sun rises, as will all children whose names I possess. I can promise it.”

“Your baking attire is poorly suited to your task, but it works very well for mine.” She stiffened, feeling the cold air from the front hall lick up her bare legs once more. Changing out of her short nightgown hadn’t seemed like a priority several hours earlier when the heat of her oven had warmed the kitchen, but now she wished she’d donned a suit of armor, wished she’d put on something.

“Hmmm. Quite the curiosity, aren’t you. You smell like a good girl. You taste like a good girl . . . but you’d make very fine Naughty List material. Very interesting, sweetling. What a happy accident this was . . . for me.”

The phone buzzed again on the table, its vibration seeming more insistent. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, so rudely interrupting his time away; didn’t need to see the screen to know it would be the office, demanding to know the exact date of his return. Well . . . the fat man could kiss his ass, he thought as the girl’s strong hands moved up his well-muscled thighs, pressing into the glutes of the aforementioned ass Santa was welcome to kiss.

Broad, barrel-chested and heavily tattooed, the big man was anything but jolly.

Have you ever tasted the fires of damnation, little one? Mine is a burning rod of justice, and I would choke you with its heat.”

Worshipers of these asinine new gods mistakenly believed chastity was the mark of goodness, chastity and piousness, but these ancient trees knew better. There was no crime in passion or in loving freely, for seeking pleasure with others was one of the scant ways these humans had to express joy, and worshipers of the old gods knew this.

“How can I resist my good girl when she begs me so sweetly?”

She had envied those on the list before, who would receive a visit from Krampus at Christmastime. She had resented their punishment and coveted their place on his list . . . but perhaps that was misguided after all, Dara thought, feeling herself drift to sleep on a cloud of citrus and spice and a whisper of pine. Perhaps there was value in being a good girl. After all, he visited those on the Naughty List . . . but he had come home to her.