Death has a weird way of making people immortal. The flesh may been six feet under, but the legend is a star in the sky. People tell tales about Krampus the way they swap bogeyman stories. The worst part about the stories is that they're all true. Like the time Krampus forced a candy-maker to eat her own caramel-coated hand.
Still, Krampus died ages ago. Back in the day he and Big Red ran the whole show. Then Big Red decided he didn't care to share. Krampus took two copper rounds to the back of the head. They say his skull is still up on the wall in Big Red's office.
Standing outside the building with the Krampus mark I can't help admiring the artist. It's almost a kind of Rorschach striking a primal chord. A tribal inspired mess of jagged lines clustered into the semblance of a goat skull -- there's an occult quality to it I doubt is by accident. In a way, it's the perfect street tag: marking property, and saying go away in one symbol.
The building itself is nothing exceptional. The Krampus mark is the only thing setting it apart. Otherwise, I can't see anything other than a brownstone two-flat.
A goose in rags shuffles by shaking a tin can, "Help a honker out."
I flash a few bucks, and ask, "What do you know about that place?"
The goose squints at the money. Licking his bill he shakes his head, "Horrible spot. I stay away from there."
I deposit a c-note in the cup -- courtesy of Black Jack -- then ask, "Why's that?"
Scratching a wing the goose says, "Weird folks go in and out of there all the time. I don't know who, but I know trouble when I see it."
Slipping another bill in I ask, "Anybody in there now?"
Shaking his head the goose says, "Nope, and I pay attention. I'd choke on a stone before talking to any of them."
Thanking him I watch the goose waddle away. He pauses at one point to gander at the place before glancing back at me. Before I can be sure what look he's giving me, he turns away. The cup rattles, and he calls out, "Help a honker out," though the street is empty.
The building resides on the corner. Windows on all sides make it unlikely to come at the place without being seen. However, I remember a few tricks from my youth.
After walking up the block I climb an apartment building's fire escape. Up on the rooftop -- click, click, click -- I head back towards the Krampus mark. I used to do this as a kid back when I thought I might be a flier. Even when those dreams died I kept running along roofs, only then I did it to break in. Either way, the skills still remained.
Back at the Krampus building I find an attic window. Taking a chance I break the glass. After waiting a minute there's no sign of anyone coming to investigate, so I go inside.
The only light is a column from the street stabbing in through the window. At a glance the attic is empty, though I can see a few boxes piled in corners. It takes a while to find an exit. The door isn't locked, and I worry I'm wasting my good luck on mediocre wins.
The second floor isn't much better than the attic. The rooms are mostly empty except for one. A set of mismatched chairs around a scarred table. Spotting letters on the table I use my lighter to read a few pages. However, everything is in gibberish. I'm sure it's a code, but without a key there's no chance of me reading it on my own. That doesn't stop me from pocketing a page before going downstairs.
The first floor finally looks like someone lives here. There are rugs, plenty of furniture, and lamps, though I don't dare turn any on. The street provides enough light down here. Yet, I don't see anything worth noticing.
Moving towards the back takes me into a kitchen. The fridge is empty, so are all the drawers. However, there's a butcher knife in the sink. Knowing better than to touch it, I flick my lighter to life. The blade is still bloody.
A low moan drifts through the house. My blood chills a degree or two, and I snap the lighter shut. Waiting in the darkness I start regretting not snatching a gun back at Black Jack's. It's not like the corpses need them anymore. I consider grabbing the blade. However, hearing the moan again I realize it isn't something sinister. Someone is in trouble.
Following the noise to a door I open it revealing a wooden staircase. The steps disappear into a dark basement. Flipping a light switch beside the door brings an illumination my lighter could beat.
Each step groans and crackles as if it's about to break. The moaning gets louder the deeper I go. Finally I reach the bottom.
The basement is nothing more than bare brick walls. The Krampus mark adorns every one. A few scattered bulbs dangle from wires. The only furniture is a metal chair, and it's already occupied. The occupant is a blindfolded elf. He's tied to it with packaging ribbon. Stripped to the waist it's easy to see why he's moaning, also how the knife got bloody.
His torso is covered in slashes. His arms and face aren't doing well either. The tips of his ears are missing. Someone's been working him over slowly. Having been on the verge of this nightmare, I can appreciate the situation.
As I hurry over, he flinches at the sound of my hooves.
Shuddering he says, "Please! No more!"
I say, "Don't worry buddy. I'm not here to hurt you."
"Who're you?" he asks in a quivering voice.
"Not a fan of this lemme tell ya."
I pull off the blindfold. He blinks, the dim light blinding.
He says, "We've gotta hurry. They could be back any minute."
Immediately I go to work on the ribbon. Along the way I ask questions. He says his name is Elfonso. He works for urban planning.
"They used to ask me questions about the city. I told everything I know, but then." He starts to cry.
So I tell him, "Everything's going to be okay."
I hate the fact it feels like a lie.
Elfonso says, "What's going on?"
I say, "Hate to tell ya, but I was hoping you know."
He shakes his head. The ribbons finally give way. His sigh of relief -- I've heard less joyful orgasms.
Elfonso says, "I don't know who these people are, but I'm sure they're insane. Look what they did to me."
Up close the wreckage is even worse. He's a trail of canyons. Poor guy is bound to be scarred for life.
Helping him to his feet I have to ask, "Why'd they do it?"
"It was like some initiation thing. The one in the mask would say, 'Prove you're one of us.' Then they'd give the knife to someone and..." he trails off, but I don't press him. I can guess the details.
So again I lie, "It's going to be okay. You're getting out of here."
Sure enough that's the cue for the sound of a door closing upstairs. Elfonso sucks in a breath. I get the feeling a scream is coming, so slap a hand over his mouth.
The only way out is the stairs. Worse, it doesn't take a genius to realize there's nowhere to hide down here. The best of our bad options is to get under the stairs, though I doubt it would take a blind fool long to find us there. Since it's better than nothing, hand over his mouth, I drag us there. I can feel Elfonso shivering in my arms, sweat is already pouring out of him.
Footsteps above. I can't be sure how many, but more than one.
A gravelly voice says, "Basement 's open."
Another voice responds, but down here I can't hear it.
Boots thud, and the steps groan. Elfonso starts to wriggle. His sweaty body is hard to hold onto. The boots continue to slowly descend. Elfonso struggles more.
I whisper, "Hold still."
The boots reach the bottom of the stairs. It's a pig dressed in black. He looks like a walking tank. His eyes go straight to the empty chair.
Elfonso jerks to one side, and pops out of my arms. He launches himself forward, snatching a chunk of brick off the floor. Next thing I know Elfonso is literally screaming through the air, swinging the brick. The blow strikes the pig in the head. Elfonso doesn't hesitate, though, he keeps hammering away with that chunk. The swine goes down, and Elfonso follows him. Using both hands he pounds way until piggy's head is nothing but a pulpy mess.
Breathing heavily Elfonso grins, "I'm --"
Whatever might've come out his mouth gets cut off by a bullet. His head wipes to one side, while a spray of red and brains splatters the wall. Elfonso collapses into a heap. The whole moment lasts the blink of an eye -- so sudden I'm not even aware it happens.
Someone starts coming down the stairs. The creaking plants a thought in my head. The plan that forms doesn't inspire a lot of hope. Yet, I'll take anything.
I wait, hands ready, as whoever it is descends. When their feet touch the step above me I grab the plank, and pull down as hard as I can. The wood snaps. The step bursts apart. Whoever is above, their webbed foot punches through. They don't fall through, but trip enough to go tumbling down the stairs.
The second I hear a body falling I move. Quick as I can I dart out from under the stairs. The person hits the bottom just as I'm coming around. Jumping over their body I go up three steps at a time.
No fool, I go out the nearby backdoor. I'm three blocks away before my body protests enough for me to slow. When I stop I realize I've been running in a blind panic.
I don't know what's going on, and I'm definitely in over my head.
Still, Krampus died ages ago. Back in the day he and Big Red ran the whole show. Then Big Red decided he didn't care to share. Krampus took two copper rounds to the back of the head. They say his skull is still up on the wall in Big Red's office.
Standing outside the building with the Krampus mark I can't help admiring the artist. It's almost a kind of Rorschach striking a primal chord. A tribal inspired mess of jagged lines clustered into the semblance of a goat skull -- there's an occult quality to it I doubt is by accident. In a way, it's the perfect street tag: marking property, and saying go away in one symbol.
The building itself is nothing exceptional. The Krampus mark is the only thing setting it apart. Otherwise, I can't see anything other than a brownstone two-flat.
A goose in rags shuffles by shaking a tin can, "Help a honker out."
I flash a few bucks, and ask, "What do you know about that place?"
The goose squints at the money. Licking his bill he shakes his head, "Horrible spot. I stay away from there."
I deposit a c-note in the cup -- courtesy of Black Jack -- then ask, "Why's that?"
Scratching a wing the goose says, "Weird folks go in and out of there all the time. I don't know who, but I know trouble when I see it."
Slipping another bill in I ask, "Anybody in there now?"
Shaking his head the goose says, "Nope, and I pay attention. I'd choke on a stone before talking to any of them."
Thanking him I watch the goose waddle away. He pauses at one point to gander at the place before glancing back at me. Before I can be sure what look he's giving me, he turns away. The cup rattles, and he calls out, "Help a honker out," though the street is empty.
The building resides on the corner. Windows on all sides make it unlikely to come at the place without being seen. However, I remember a few tricks from my youth.
After walking up the block I climb an apartment building's fire escape. Up on the rooftop -- click, click, click -- I head back towards the Krampus mark. I used to do this as a kid back when I thought I might be a flier. Even when those dreams died I kept running along roofs, only then I did it to break in. Either way, the skills still remained.
Back at the Krampus building I find an attic window. Taking a chance I break the glass. After waiting a minute there's no sign of anyone coming to investigate, so I go inside.
The only light is a column from the street stabbing in through the window. At a glance the attic is empty, though I can see a few boxes piled in corners. It takes a while to find an exit. The door isn't locked, and I worry I'm wasting my good luck on mediocre wins.
The second floor isn't much better than the attic. The rooms are mostly empty except for one. A set of mismatched chairs around a scarred table. Spotting letters on the table I use my lighter to read a few pages. However, everything is in gibberish. I'm sure it's a code, but without a key there's no chance of me reading it on my own. That doesn't stop me from pocketing a page before going downstairs.
The first floor finally looks like someone lives here. There are rugs, plenty of furniture, and lamps, though I don't dare turn any on. The street provides enough light down here. Yet, I don't see anything worth noticing.
Moving towards the back takes me into a kitchen. The fridge is empty, so are all the drawers. However, there's a butcher knife in the sink. Knowing better than to touch it, I flick my lighter to life. The blade is still bloody.
A low moan drifts through the house. My blood chills a degree or two, and I snap the lighter shut. Waiting in the darkness I start regretting not snatching a gun back at Black Jack's. It's not like the corpses need them anymore. I consider grabbing the blade. However, hearing the moan again I realize it isn't something sinister. Someone is in trouble.
Following the noise to a door I open it revealing a wooden staircase. The steps disappear into a dark basement. Flipping a light switch beside the door brings an illumination my lighter could beat.
Each step groans and crackles as if it's about to break. The moaning gets louder the deeper I go. Finally I reach the bottom.
The basement is nothing more than bare brick walls. The Krampus mark adorns every one. A few scattered bulbs dangle from wires. The only furniture is a metal chair, and it's already occupied. The occupant is a blindfolded elf. He's tied to it with packaging ribbon. Stripped to the waist it's easy to see why he's moaning, also how the knife got bloody.
His torso is covered in slashes. His arms and face aren't doing well either. The tips of his ears are missing. Someone's been working him over slowly. Having been on the verge of this nightmare, I can appreciate the situation.
As I hurry over, he flinches at the sound of my hooves.
Shuddering he says, "Please! No more!"
I say, "Don't worry buddy. I'm not here to hurt you."
"Who're you?" he asks in a quivering voice.
"Not a fan of this lemme tell ya."
I pull off the blindfold. He blinks, the dim light blinding.
He says, "We've gotta hurry. They could be back any minute."
Immediately I go to work on the ribbon. Along the way I ask questions. He says his name is Elfonso. He works for urban planning.
"They used to ask me questions about the city. I told everything I know, but then." He starts to cry.
So I tell him, "Everything's going to be okay."
I hate the fact it feels like a lie.
Elfonso says, "What's going on?"
I say, "Hate to tell ya, but I was hoping you know."
He shakes his head. The ribbons finally give way. His sigh of relief -- I've heard less joyful orgasms.
Elfonso says, "I don't know who these people are, but I'm sure they're insane. Look what they did to me."
Up close the wreckage is even worse. He's a trail of canyons. Poor guy is bound to be scarred for life.
Helping him to his feet I have to ask, "Why'd they do it?"
"It was like some initiation thing. The one in the mask would say, 'Prove you're one of us.' Then they'd give the knife to someone and..." he trails off, but I don't press him. I can guess the details.
So again I lie, "It's going to be okay. You're getting out of here."
Sure enough that's the cue for the sound of a door closing upstairs. Elfonso sucks in a breath. I get the feeling a scream is coming, so slap a hand over his mouth.
The only way out is the stairs. Worse, it doesn't take a genius to realize there's nowhere to hide down here. The best of our bad options is to get under the stairs, though I doubt it would take a blind fool long to find us there. Since it's better than nothing, hand over his mouth, I drag us there. I can feel Elfonso shivering in my arms, sweat is already pouring out of him.
Footsteps above. I can't be sure how many, but more than one.
A gravelly voice says, "Basement 's open."
Another voice responds, but down here I can't hear it.
Boots thud, and the steps groan. Elfonso starts to wriggle. His sweaty body is hard to hold onto. The boots continue to slowly descend. Elfonso struggles more.
I whisper, "Hold still."
The boots reach the bottom of the stairs. It's a pig dressed in black. He looks like a walking tank. His eyes go straight to the empty chair.
Elfonso jerks to one side, and pops out of my arms. He launches himself forward, snatching a chunk of brick off the floor. Next thing I know Elfonso is literally screaming through the air, swinging the brick. The blow strikes the pig in the head. Elfonso doesn't hesitate, though, he keeps hammering away with that chunk. The swine goes down, and Elfonso follows him. Using both hands he pounds way until piggy's head is nothing but a pulpy mess.
Breathing heavily Elfonso grins, "I'm --"
Whatever might've come out his mouth gets cut off by a bullet. His head wipes to one side, while a spray of red and brains splatters the wall. Elfonso collapses into a heap. The whole moment lasts the blink of an eye -- so sudden I'm not even aware it happens.
Someone starts coming down the stairs. The creaking plants a thought in my head. The plan that forms doesn't inspire a lot of hope. Yet, I'll take anything.
I wait, hands ready, as whoever it is descends. When their feet touch the step above me I grab the plank, and pull down as hard as I can. The wood snaps. The step bursts apart. Whoever is above, their webbed foot punches through. They don't fall through, but trip enough to go tumbling down the stairs.
The second I hear a body falling I move. Quick as I can I dart out from under the stairs. The person hits the bottom just as I'm coming around. Jumping over their body I go up three steps at a time.
No fool, I go out the nearby backdoor. I'm three blocks away before my body protests enough for me to slow. When I stop I realize I've been running in a blind panic.
I don't know what's going on, and I'm definitely in over my head.
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