The scarier side of Christmas

Gudrun Scott
When speaking with Gurdrun last night I heard all about the devlish Krampus (pronounced "gran-poos") that originated in Germany and Austria. Gudrun remembers seeing Krampus when she was young in Germany. Apparently after a little "googling" I found out all kinds of unusual information on this. Here's some of what I found:

On the night of Dec. 5 (in some places, the evening of Dec. 6), in small communities in Austria and the Catholic regions of Germany, a man dressed as der Heilige Nikolaus (St. Nicholas, who resembles a bishop and carries a staff) goes from house to house to bring small gifts to the children. Accompanying him are several ragged looking, devil-like Krampusse, who mildly scare the children. Although Krampus carries eine Rute (a switch), he only teases the children with it, while St. Nicholas hands out small gifts to the children. In some regions, there are other names for both Nikolaus and Krampus (Knecht Ruprecht in Germany). Sometimes Krampus/Knecht Ruprecht is the good guy bringing gifts, equal to or replacing St. Nicholas. As early as 1555, St. Nicholas brought gifts on Dec. 6, the only “Christmas” gift-giving time during the Middle Ages, and Knecht Ruprecht or Krampus was a more ominous figure.

"Ingrid" on another blog has this to say about Krampus -- I was in Salzburg years ago as a college student. I’d been warned about Krampus, but still found the whole thing rather overwhelming. I recall seeing one man with his small boy flung over his shoulder, rushing down the sidewalk, trying to stay one step ahead of the many folks out roving the streets, dressed in frightening costumes - some with eyes glowing red. And every one seemed to carry around a large bundle of sticks with which they would not just threaten, but actually beat the legs of anyone foolish enough to get within reach.

Kentucky in the 50's -- trap St. Nic!

Denver Compton
When I went to 6th grade (1955-56), Ike was president and the world seemed a very predictable place - the little bit of civil defense stuff and news of the bomb that made it to Eastern Kentucky seemed more like fun to us, than something to worry about. One of the friends I made that year in school was Robert B.. I first began to hear bits and pieces of what sounded more and more like either an attempt to rob Santa Claus or take him prisoner from Robert's younger brother, William. (That was William's spin on it.)

Bringing up the subject to Robert got a frosty reaction, then an angry reaction. Finally, he said that on the Christmas when William was 6 (which made Robert 8), he had decided to prove to William that there was no Santa Claus. So he devised a plan.

The plan began as a simple idea: On Christmas Eve, wait in the living room where stockings were hung on hand-made antique nails (truly!) driven into the fireplace (no fire!) mantel, with his trusty Kodak flash camera. Then when Santa (believed by Robert to be Mr. B.) arrived to fill the stockings, Robert would snap his photo, obtaining proof to shatter William's belief in Santa.

But a simple plan is never good enough. Robert decided to slightly rearrange the furniture so he could hide in a corner behind a couch. He also decided to sprinkle flour on the hearth in front of the mantel and on the polished stone floor so that if he missed Santa (he didn't know how long he would have to stay awake), he could track him!

Still so far, so good. But Robert admitted that he made one error. For whatever reason, he decided to have his Daisy pump-action BB gun with him. You can guess the rest. Robert dozed off. When Mr. B. arrived to fill the stockings, a startled Robert shot him in the stomach with the BB gun. Mr. B. was so surprised that he slipped in the flour and fell on the stone floor, cutting a gash in his head that necessitated a trip to the local hospital emergency room and stitches.

All well and good, except that I knew that Robert invented the "truth" on a regular basis. A couple of years later at the high school, waiting for the afternoon bell to ring (after lunch), I got up the nerve to ask Mrs. B. about the events of that Christmas Eve. The flour was true, the camera was there, Mr. B. did get shot by a BB gun, he did fall and cut his head, but --

She said that Robert was the last of his friends to believe in Santa and was trying to prove his existence. "But why the BB gun?" I asked. "You won't understand," she said, "but in his heart Robert is a combination of Zorro, Blackbeard, and Jesse James. " The bell rang and she seemed happy to get away from me.

I couldn't figure out how to raise the issue with Robert without giving away my source, so I never mentioned it again to him again.

Diane Freiburger

When I was five, my parents, especially my Dad, kept telling my brother and me that if we weren’t good, Santa Claus would put a stick in our stockings. Some personality traits are established early on - even at five, I was quite stubborn and sure that I knew more than my parents. I did not believe them, and told them there was no way Santa would give me a stick. Christmas morning arrived, and my brother and I excitedly ran for our stockings to see what Santa had brought us. And what did we see peeking out over the tops of our stockings? Sticks! I was so upset, and according to my parents, threw that stick down in disgust. On the other hand, my brother, who was three, was quite excited to receive a stick. He even kept it under his bed as a great toy, probably until my mother eventually threw it back outside. Unfortunately, there are no photos of us with our sticks, very likely because I refused to sit for one with the hated stick. I’m quite sure I had much more respect for Santa after this. I remember walking to school after Christmas, and asking my friends if they had received sticks. I was so surprised that they had not, and I could never figure out why Santa only brought us sticks. Looking back, my Dad now admits he was probably the one who deserved a stick for this stunt, but that somehow doesn’t stop him from laughing about the sight of me flinging that stick down on the fireplace.

Mr. Potato Head -- Two Times

Laurel Martin
As most families do, we had our own little Christmas traditions - putting out cookies and milk for Santa and carrots for the reindeer, and trying our hardest to stay up long enough in the living room to catch a glimpse of the one who always hooked us up with the best presents. This particular year, I was about seven, and when the morning finally came and we were rooting through all the gifts, I opened the first one. A Mr. Potato Head.... just what I wanted!! I showed off my new toy and moved on to the next gift. Another Mr. Potato Head. And, upon further examination, it was the exact same one. Both from Santa. Hmm. I looked at the tag from the first one, and noticed a strong resemblance of Santa's handwriting to my dad's handwriting. The second tag mysteriously had a strong resemblance to my mom's handwriting. I must have stared at those tags for a couple minutes before I figured it out (meanwhile, I'm sure my parents were giving each other the same "Now look what you've done!" look...). I asked my older sister later on that day, and she confirmed my fear was reality - no Santa, just tricky parents. My mission now is to keep Santa alive in the minds of my seven nieces and nephews for as long as I can!

Santa Who?

Anne VerPlank

I was in 2nd grade and clearly remember sitting in the cafeteria, eating lunch with my best friend Anne, a few weeks before Christmas. The holiday decorations had just gone up that morning at school. We sat gazing at a large wooden, painted cutout of Santa and his sleigh. I excitedly began to tell Anne what I was going to ask Santa for that year. She cut me off and flatly told me there was no Santa. “What do you mean?” I asked worriedly. She explained that Santa is not real and that parents only acted like Santa. They bought all the gifts. She further explained that the previous Christmas her dad made her take a bath on Christmas Eve so he could secretly put out presents (her first tip off since Santa comes while you’re in bed sleeping, not taking a bath). He then climbed up on the roof and stomped around, acting like Rudolph and the gang and yelling ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ for all the world to hear. Unfortunately he was drunk at the time. A fresh blanket of snow helped accelerate his slippery slide off the two story roof. Luckily there was a tree to break his fall, but her mom still had to rush him to the hospital to make sure he was OK. I was shocked at the news and couldn’t finish my lunch. Talk about a reality check! Of course I believed her because she was the smartest kid in the class and wouldn’t lie about something so serious.

I raced home after school and asked my mom. She said that of course Santa is real and we must believe or he wouldn’t stop at our house. But then I knew better. The signs were there if I looked hard enough. I pretended to believe for my little brother, and he believed all the way up to 4th grade. By that time, older and wiser, I came to the conclusion that while Santa might not be real, the Spirit of Santa lives on, inspiring kind and generous acts around the holiday season.

Red Ranger Came Calling

John Milliken

My family lives in a neighborhood where it is not uncommon during the summer to hear the back door screen slam followedby a flock of children that trail in after one of your own, inquiring on the status of lunch, snacks or wanting to borrow tools and a bicycle pump. Naturally the Christmas / Chanukah / Kwanza season involves attendance of various and sundry pint and full size neighbors. Several years ago we hosted a holiday gathering that featured a round-robin reading of Berkley Breathed's book "Red Ranger Came Calling". It is a wonderfully illustrated story of his father's adventures growing up on Vashon Island with an Aunt during the 1930's depression. Berkeley's father, Red, had his sights set on a hopeless quest for a genuine Red Ranger Buck Tweed Bicycle. Red's dream and antics combine with the mysterious arrival of an elf and one Saunder Clos. I figured this story, local to the Pacific Northwest, big on pictures and short on text might make for a fine group read. As we passed the book around, the task of reading the passage where Red reveals his heartfelt wish fell to Owen - aged three. Owen did a charming and smashing job with the paragraph, lisping Red's dream gift of a "Tweed Bicycle" to hard-of-hearing Saunder Clos. Owen finished to applause and gales of appreciative laughter. Owen looked up, somewhat taken aback as he knew he had nailed each word, and said "Mom, why is every one laughing?" Without spoiling the story, I give you Red's wish fulfilled:(attached) The book is available on line and in book stores. Ask for "Red Ranger Came Calling" (A Guaranteed True Christmas Story), by Berkeley Breathed, ISBN 0-316-10881-2 (HC), 0-316-10249-0 (PB)

Santa is so thin and young!

Aria Yow

When my sister and I were grade school, we decided to camp out in front of the fireplace in the living room, on Christmas Eve. Surely this would provide the best vantage point for any Santa sighting. In the middle of the night, my older sister woke up to go the bathroom.
As she stood in the hallway, she saw a thin, youngish man closing the chimney flue. This was recounted to me in breathless detail the next morning.

Surely I was the only grade schooler with a extreme athlete, double-century (e.g. 200 mile) bike-riding father trying to play into his children's belief in Santa.

The Sample List from 1992

Zohall Rouhani
I was a pretty humble and selfless kid…I never asked for much from my parents. My fondest memory of Christmas is sitting on Santa’s lap about fifteen years ago with my short list of the following:
Polly Pocket
My Little Pony
Care Bears
Baby Alive
Glow Worm
Teddy Rupskin
American Girl Doll
Easy Bake Oven
Ninja Turtle Action Figures
Nerf Guns
Radio Controlled Race Cars
Barbies!
Star light
A subscription to Tiger Beat
And… lastly, but what I wanted most from Santa was the New Kids on the Block blanket, pillow case and posters.

Santa is BigFoot -- scaring the bejesus out of...

First off, Santa is real, but not in any way you would imagine.His is not a pretty story; in fact, it is sad. Phantom of the Opera, The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Beauty & the Beast come to mind. The untold real story behind Santa Claus is that he is really bigfoot; that explains why no one has ever seen him on Xmas eve and how he has so eluded everyone all these millenia by such inhuman stealth and animal cunning..Pull away his fake beard and silly red hat, and children will be exposed to the most hideous half human / half gorilla countenance they can only imagine in their worst nightmare!The "gifts" that he (it) brings are his creaturely way of apologizing for scaring the be-Jesus out of everyone he encounters in the woods as he forages about for god knows what?! ...toilet paper (hung, curled the "right way"!) Its a very sad story -- (anon)

Let's Just "Trap" Santa

Albert Oliver
Through out our early years, my sister and I developed a routine – she’d wake up first (maybe around 2 or 3 AM), get me up, and we’d go downstairs to examine and play with the booty brought by Santa. We’d then go back to bed, and wake up (again) at a more suitable time, to “officially” greet the tree and Mom and Dad.

But, there finally came a time when both my sister and I were starting to doubt Santa’s existence. For even though our row house had a chimney, it only went down to the furnace – hardly a suitable way for Santa to get in to the house. We were also starting to be quite skeptical about the idea of Santa’s “magic” too. Fortunately, we hadn’t yet discovered any of the hiding places for gifts in the house. So, one Christmas eve we decided to set “traps” for Santa Cookies, Milk and Potato Chips were determined to be the most suitable.
It wasn’t even snowing that Christmas, so we were even more skeptical that he would ever appear. We tried to stay up, but finally went to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, we heard noise on our roof, and bells tinkling. I’m not sure which one of us heard it first, but we both got up, and ran downstairs to the tree. There was everything! The cookies, milk, and potato chips were eaten! And our parents were in bed!

We never did find out about the noises, although I suspect it was a neighbor playing Santa for the neighborhood. But at the time, Santa was as real as we still wanted him to be.

Hannukah AND Christmas: loads-o-gifts

Betsy Fried
Growing up in a family that does both Hannukah and Christmas means that everyone is going crazy during the holiday times. I'm not sure how my parents ever survived the eight nights of gifts and trying not to burn down the house with the menorah, followed by my sister and I hardly sleeping and waking them up at the crack of dawn on Christmas. Therefore, I really only have the traditional Santa memories of leaving him cookies (and celery for the reindeer) and getting a note from him on Christmas morning.

Okay, so maybe that part isn't so important, but it leads up to this, my favorite Santa memory...

I've recently discovered that a person I know, who shall remain nameless, dresses up as Santa Claus each and every year, and goes to visit the kids in his neighborhood. The parents of the children e-mail him information on what the children have been up to, and when "Santa" starts asking about the ongoings of their lives, their faces light up so very much. I really feel that this embodies the true spirit of Christmas, the altruism of giving without needing to receive, and therefore it's my favorite Santa memory!

Superman Toy

Brett Leonhardt

Hiding Under the Bed Again

Di Ann Vondrachek
First of all, you have to know I was a BIG believer. I believed until I was in fourth grade when one of my classmates gave me the sad truth. Needless to say I was sure she was lying and I went home crying to my Mom. Also, even though I was a big believer, I was very afraid of the big guy and that is what my story is about.

Every year like all the other children I would get so excited for Christmas Eve. The year I was in second grade, my parents went to great expense to hire a Santa to come and bring our presents. After all, as excited as I was about his coming, wouldn't it be great to get some pictures of Di Ann and her little sister and Santa. Well, the minute I heard the ho ho ho I ran and hid under my parent's bed. So, the only picture we have of Santa and Di Ann that year is of Santa trying to pull Di Ann out from under the bed....


I am still a great believer and hope you are too. Just not afraid any more.

It's Hitting the Fan...

Jim G contributed this one

A Christmas TraditionOne particular Christmas season a long time ago, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip ... but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more. When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More stress.

Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that the elves had hid the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from. Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas Santa. Isn't it just a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Isn't it just a lovely tree? Where would you like me to stick it?" Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.

But the Chimney is Too Dirty

David Mc Adams

Something told me that I should go along with the story.

I wasn’t sure why they had made up this half-baked tale but they were clearly committed to it. I mean, from as early as I can remember I couldn’t see why Santa would try to park on the roof and shimmy down our chimney to get into the house. After all, the chimney was dirty and narrow and we had several good doors on the house that he could use if he wanted to.

I was pretty sure that my older sisters were in cahoots with Mom and Dad on this one. Everybody was in on the game so I went along with it.

But the winter that I was 4 the story started to unravel. We had planned to leave before dawn on Christmas morning to drive to my Grandmothers house, so Santa was going to have to come early. Special arrangements had been made for early delivery and on the eve of Christmas after supper we were sent up to our bedrooms to pretend to sleep so that Santa could come.

Pressing my ear up to my closed bedroom door I heard shuffling in the living room downstairs and then a hearty Ho, Ho, Ho. It was Dad. I was sure. And to confirm it was a giggle from my Mom.

A few minutes later we emerged to find the cookies and milk in disarray, and a fresh set of gifts presented around the tree. We opened our packages that night and though I knew better, I kept the faith along with Mom, Dad, and my sisters.

As far as I know, they still think I believe.