Chapter Six
Krampus Festival
Laura sat alone on her bed, thinking of how large the bedroom was.
“My heart aches,” she whimpered, holding back tears. Her hair flamed red and her green eyes reflected suffering.
Next to her was a small doll she had owned since childhood. Her uncle had brought it back from Germany long before. The matching figure was on her dresser, a gigantic, rail-thin Santa Claus, dressed not in red, but the robes of an Orthodox priest. This was Father Christmas, who always captivated her, as did this werewolf wearing human clothes who was called Krampus.
Had the legend been real, she might well have expected a visit from Krampus this Christmas Eve. She had, for all practical purposes, been very naughty. This was the source of her emotional distress.
She’d been involv
