This is the story of how Krampus, the Yuletide devil, came to Portland. Well, more specifically, it’s the story of how Krampus came to my apartment and laid the groundwork for a new, old-fashioned, holiday tradition. You see, after many a heated discussion and just a bit of compromise, my partner was finally on board, however begrudgingly, to allow a Krampus tree into our lives. “Where are we going to store another Christmas tree,” he queried, “And who the hell is Krampus?”

The answer to those questions didn’t help my case.

My partner’s never been one to store things under the bed…nor was he thrilled at the idea of installing a black and red Christmas tree, meant to celebrate a terrifying goat-like creature with massive horns and a sack full of screaming children. Still, on the day after Thanksgiving, the tree went up and, as of this writing, is standing juxtaposed to our more traditional tree of white and gold. I must say, passing between the two feels like crossing a holiday battle line of good vs. evil…or, should I say, “naughty vs. nice.”

The Krampus is a shadowy figure from Alpine folklore and tradition. Though, indeed, a companion of the ever-benevolent St. Nicholas, the Christmas devil does not come to bring gifts or joy. Instead, Krampus concerns himself with the punishment of the naughty. He delights in birch switches, clanking chains, and the shrieks of children. Regional variance determines his methods; the Krampus might terrify, beat, devour, or drag his victims straight to hell. However, regardless of where one might encounter this creature, there is at least one very important consistency. For those who escape his terrible judgement, Krampus issues a warning: “Behave, little one, or I’ll be back for you next year!”

Having grown up in the American South, I wasn’t raised with the Krampus tradition. When it comes to ghosts and ghouls, making it through Halloween unscathed meant I could stop worrying about things going bump in the night. If I was naughty throughout the year, there would be no demonic retribution waiting for me in the frozen night. Unlike St. Nicholas, American Santa doesn’t deal in punishments or monstrous companions…besides, for those of us with Southern mommas, if you were naughty, a Christmas devil would be the least of your worries.

The fact is that I had never even heard of the Krampus until I was in college. Being a horror fan and religious studies major, my interest was piqued. Upon further research, I discovered so much more than a bogey of European holiday lore. What I saw, and still see, in Krampus is a necessary reminder of the evils that lurk beyond the facade of consumerist festivities, a powerful being in chains, and a queer icon just begging to be set free.

In his seminal work, The Krampus and the Old, Dark Christmas: Roots and Rebirth of the Folkloric Devil (2016), Al Ridenour opens with a simple sentiment: “Christmas requires the darkness.” With all the glittering lights, familial warmth, and “brown paper packages tied up with strings,” one might easily forget that we, in the Northern hemisphere, have fallen into the darker half of the year. Drawing nearer to the solstice, the days grow shorter, colder, and less forgiving. The earth has withered, the wind is edged, and the promise of verdant spring feels ages beyond reach. Put simply, winter brings death.

Holiday tradition, both ancient and modern, responds to this annual coming of the darkness with celebrations to the contrary: light, life, and generosity. Consider the many ways wintertime festivities celebrate the return or coming of light. I, myself of Christian upbringing, was raised with images of the infant Christ, cradled and bathed in a divine radiance comparable only with the massive Star of Bethlehem. I am also reminded of the candle-crowned St. Lucia, whose very name references light, historically celebrated with the coming of the solstice. Indeed, Christmas is full of glowing images, from the light of the Christmas tree to Santa’s rosy cheeks; the message is one of hope. Despite the dark and the cold, we come together to celebrate the promise of the returning sun and/or messages of faith.

This brings me to Krampus.

There can be little doubt that he’s struck (no pun intended) a chord with American audiences. In the last ten years, we’ve seen an influx of Krampus films, books, merchandise, and events. My own Krampus-journey began in 2014, with a presentation on holiday traditions by religious studies scholar Dell deChant at the University of South Florida. From there, I came across Krampus: The Yule Lord (2012), a dark fantasy by artist/author Brom, followed shortly thereafter by Michael Dougherty’s horror-comedy film, Krampus (2015). As such, I am most familiar and acquainted with the American incarnation of Krampus. One cannot overemphasize the importance of understanding regional/national variance when it comes to Krampus lore.

American Krampus is very different from Germanic Krampus. I emphasize this point in consideration of both historic context and the potential for cultural appropriation. For a comprehensive study of its history, iconography, and traditions, I would recommend the interested reader to the aforementioned brilliant work by Al Rednour. For the purposes of this piece, I am relating my experiences and understanding of the Krampus in its modern, horror-based, American form, unless otherwise noted. What I hope to underscore is my assertion that terrible, frightening, blood-thirsty Krampus has come to the forefront in American pop-culture as a necessary and subversive embodiment of holiday darkness that we’ve perhaps forgotten is there. To quote a line from Dougherty’s film, “He is the shadow of St. Nicholas.”

Krampus is the reminder that, as we spend in excess, there are those who do without. As we feast with loved ones, there are those who starve alone. As we delight in the sound of children’s laughter, there are those who are kept in cages. Krampus isn’t going to host a toy drive, he doesn’t ring bells for pocket change, and he isn’t here to sing hymns extolling the virtues of peace and goodwill. No. Krampus comes snarling and angry. He comes rattling chains, not unlike the ghost of a certain Jacob Marley, to remind us of the weight of our sins. Krampus comes for justice. And, in this time of political turmoil, corruption, and oppression, perhaps a justice-seeking Christmas devil is exactly what we need this holiday season.

I once said to a friend, “I know who Krampus is…but I’m not sure what to do with that information.” I recall that I’ve had this sense of imperative to incorporate Krampus into my own Yuletide traditions for quite some time. But, why? Indeed, he seems to have filled a void in the holidays that I didn’t know was there. For queer folks such as myself, who are so often confronted with the harsh injustices of patriarchal hegemony, it is easy to see how there might be some identification with the otherness of Krampus. When Santa Claus might easily be appropriated as the face of the right-wing’s ever-persistent “War on Christmas” drama, it seems only natural the others of us might find some kinship with the darker half of the Santa/Krampus dualism. Yet, I would go a step further to suggest Krampus as an actualized queer icon.

According to his traditional Alpine lore, Krampus comes trailing and chained behind the imposing figure of the bishop, St. Nicholas; subject to the will of his captor. For those naughty children who could not live up to good, Christian expectations, St. Nicholas unleashes the devilish Krampus to ensure punishment. Even for those of us who grew up with the more secular figure of Santa Claus, impending queerness can often leave children feeling flawed and sinful, possibly inscribed on that dreaded naughty list!

This is where I propose a queer claiming of the American manifestation of the Krampus tradition. As with many figures of the horror genre, there is a not-so-subtle subtext to this character. If Krampus represents the “naughty” children, those of us who don’t measure up to the establishment’s idea of “nice,” then he is by virtue of his nature a queer figure. This is especially poignant for the American version of the beast, who comes unchained by the pressures of the past. Queer Krampus is liberated, an adversary to the hegemonic ideal, prowling the night and hungry for justice. He is an icon that goes of his own accord…and I like to think he has his own ideas about “naughty and nice.”

Without prescribed traditions, experience, or better ideas, I introduced Krampus to my regular holiday practice by decorating a tree in his honor. Despite the initial reluctance, I’m happy to report that my partner decided to join in on the fun; we trimmed the tree together. Krampus has, indeed, found a home with us. But, the story doesn’t end there. You might suspect that a Krampus tree would be as far as I could go…but I live in Portland…and what holiday would be complete without a sense of community?

The air was cold, the rain came down, but the Krampuslauf marched on! Inspired by European events of the same name (again, see Ridenour), Krampuslauf PDX is an annual event in Portland, Oregon, where enthusiasts dress in Krampus costumes and parade through town. Some participants go scary, while others choose more jovial attire, but everyone proceeds in the best of spirits; singing, dancing, howling, and engaging with unsuspecting spectators (the event is unofficial).

2019 marks the tenth anniversary of Krampuslauf PDX, which only added to my excitement at joining the event this year. The experience was nothing short of magical. Donning bells, holly, and a golden, horned mask, I marched along with the lauf “in the name of Krampus,” ultimately making the way to a local tree lighting ceremony. Unsurprisingly, the lighting featured both a Santa and Mrs. Claus, who greeted our devilish horde from the safety of an elevated porch. At some point, I decided to go all in with the character, shouting out, “SEND OUT THE NAUGHTY!”

As we all know, the naughty are always welcome with Krampus.