Christmas Creeps

While American Christmas is here to tell you that scampering elves are magical and not malicious, cultures around the globe have Winter Solstice traditions that are a bit more fitting for the time of year when daylight hours are near non-existent and the darkness seems never ending. These traditions often involve violence and goats and sex and fertility and all sorts of stuff that gets right to the heart of the emotionally charged, shortened days of winter: Darkness is scary, and sometimes, all we can do is wait it out. And hope that it comes with cake.

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Greetings, Attic Wives and Christmas Witches, and welcome to Fuckbois of Literature, I’m your host, Emily Edwards

The Hogfather, our book subject from last week’s show, made no bones about the Winter Solstice’s bloody, bloody past. And it only makes logical sense– if you’ve noticed as much as I have that people on Twitter are freaking the fuck out over Daylight Savings more than usual, you’ll know that in trying times, the blazing glory of the sun is an actual beacon of hope for us silly, goofy upright apes, and when that beacon starts to snuff… people lose it.

Humans are storytelling creatures and when we start to get overwhelmed by darkness, we make it take shape. In the northern hemisphere, these shapes become humanoids, animals, and deities that show up around mid-December to wreak whatever havok they’d like to wreak. And I’ve decided to compile a few of these for you today, to give you the chills in all new ways.

First off, I want to start with a real person. Good King Wenceslaus was an actual Bohemian Duke in the early 900s. His whole Christmas Carol was written about a thousand years after his death, and has him looking down upon the Feast of Stephen, a saint’s day that falls on December 26th. Wenceslaus decides that he and a page are gonna hoof it out into the snow and bring money to poor and starving people in his Dukedom. But in reality, I feel like you should know the super-fratricidal story behind him. Wenceslaus was the son of the Duke of Bohemia, Vratislaus, a converted Christian, and a pagan-born woman named Drahomíra, who supposedly converted to Chrisitanity upon her marriage. When Vratislaus died, Vratislaus’s mother, Ludmila, became regent as Wenceslaus was only 13. Drahomíra, Wenceslaus’s mom, was super not into it, claiming that Ludmila was guiding Wenceslaus to become a monk rather than a prince or regent. Drahomíra was left to guide the futures of only her younger son, Boleslaus, and several daughters. So Ludmila did what she had to do, I guess: she had her mother in law murdered. Drahomíra then became regent for a few years while Wenceslaus was still a minor, and took the opportunity to legislate against Christians in Bohemia. When Wenceslaus became Duke, Boleslaus was pissed. After either four or eight years, no one’s quite sure, Boleslaus hired his own henchmen to kill his brother, earning the name Boleslaus the Cruel. One of Boleslaus’s sons was born the day of his uncle’s murder, and that child was named Strachkvas, which translates to “a dreadful feast.” So think of that the next time you hear Bean Bunny telling you that brightly shone the moon that night.

Of course, aside from actual, historical murder, the threat of murder or at least grievous bodily harm definitely abounds in Christmas and solstice lore. 

Strangely, somehow everyone does seem to know about Krampus, the be-horned child-beater of central and Alpine Europe, likely thanks to a C or D-level horror movie and what is possibly my favorite episode of SUPERNATURAL. Krampus is likely pre-Christian, and according to folklorists, he’s not really a Christmas thing so much as a specter of the entire winter– after the Church took over in the 1100s, Krampus could and did show up at any of the child-focused feast days on the Christian calendar, between Martinmas– a November holiday that’s the feast day of St. Martin of Tours, a harvest festival considered the best time to slaughter animals for the winter– and the Feast of the Holy Innocents, a holy day in January commemorating the day King Herod ordered the slaughter of all male children two years old and under. So, like, ya better watch out, kids.

Strangely, Krampus went on holiday once most of Central Europe became a fascist nightmare, because the Christian Supremacists weren’t big on the tradition of a cloven hoofed, horned, and hairy beastie scouring the countryside looking for kids to eat. So, beginning in the 1930s, Krampus tradition went away for a while, but he’s back, babies.

Like a lot of the world, people of the Alps celebrated the Feast of Saint Nicholas on January the 6th– what I’ve always called Epiphany, and it’s when you take DOWN your Christmas decorations– and the preceding night was Krampusnacht. Unlike American Santa who is both the bearer of joy and pain, Saint Nick in these parts of the woods is allowed to be holly jolly only, while Krampus is the being that brings despair, usually in the form of coal or beatin’s. Yes, correct. Beatings. Krampus carries a bundle of birch branches and hits kids with them. Or at least used to before the PC police came in. I’m joking. Don’t hit kids. Another option for Krampus was to put children in large sacks and take them away. To where I do not know. Also do not kidnap children.

My favorite part about Krampus is the 19th century tradition of Krampuskarten, or, Krampus Cards. While Queen Victoria was reigning supreme in Merry Ol’ Blighty and making it so sexually repressed you could barely admit you kissed your legal spouse, those horny ol’ Germanic tribes were sending each other saucy Krampus cards with a lascivious beasty running after buxom ladies with his long tongue slavering on his chin. Couple this with the fact that it’s tradition to leave Krampus an offering of schnapps, and I’m really team Krampus over here. 

Related to Krampus is a deity named Percht, described as a “a two-legged humanoid goat with a giraffe-like neck, wearing animal furs.” Percht is the central figure in a Tyrolian tradition known as “Perchtenlaufen” where two groups of people– women, actually until the mid 20th century– dressed up in two disguised teams. One team was the “ugly” team, dressed as sinister goats with blackened faces and streaming hair, and the other team was the “beautiful” team, costume unspecified. Strangely, the “ugly” team members were also often depicted as having one or both breasts bare, for specific reasons I cannot ascertain but only surmise. Because they were masked, they did not see this as a modesty thing, and I’m into it. At the set date and time of the Perchtenlaufen, they would meet, tits out, in the center of town and have a battle royale in the streets, beating each other with wooden canes and sticks. Like Pagan foxy boxing, I guess. Supposedly it has something to do with fertility and crops, but beyond the naked boobs, I’m not sure how. 

The Perchtenlaufen fights lead us to another creepy deity, herself called Perchta, from the Alps. In her human form, Perchta alternated between being a beautiful snow-goddess with long, flowing white hair and a grotesque hag with the engorged foot of a goose, indicating that she has the ability to shape-shift. She bums around the Alpine region of Europe– Germany, Switzerland, and sometimes Italy, who we’ll talk about more later– judging children. Pass Perchta’s test and you’ll be left with a piece of silver in your shoe. Fail, and she’ll split your stomach open, remove your innards like a Christmas roast, and fill you with straw. Perchta is not low-stakes. Unlike St. Nick’s jolly little elves and reindeer, Perchta’s entourage is a bevy of proto-Krampuses, generally a bunch of men in horned and hairy costumes. It’s debatable if Perchta is pre-Christian, but she’s definitely a mainstay in central Europe. Parades of Perchtas have different symbolism– go for the glamorous white-haired witch and you’re hoping for a financial windfall; or just go ghastly and hope to scare away evil spirits.

In the Palatinate Region of Germany– sort of in the southwest, near the border of France– there’s a humanoid Krampus-adjacent tradition who comes around the night before Christmas in order to deal with the bad children and also the ones who weren’t terribly, terribly good. His name is Belsnickel, and he’s a disheveled man wearing dirty furs and occasionally a mask with a long and scary tongue. His job is to beat the bad children with sticks– a recurring theme, you will notice– and also hand out small presents to the children who were okay, mostly tiny cakes and bags of nuts. Folklorists believe he’s related to an earlier companion or being known as Knecht Ruprecht, a sort of mischief servant or house spirit similar to Puck or Robin Goodfellow, with Ruprecht, one of the German translations of Robert, being an alternative name for the devil in some places. That’s right, the devil’s named Bob. Also in some parts of Austria, Knecht Ruprecht’s threats included beating a child with a bag of ashes, beating a child with a switch, kidnapping the child in a burlap sack, and then possibly throwing that sack into a frozen river. What the FUCK is wrong with people. 

Fun fact: In the German version of The Simpsons television show, the family dog is named Knecht Ruprecht rather than Santa’s Little Helper. There’s a French-speaking version of Knecht Ruprecht too, his name is Pere Fouettard, or Father Whipper. Charming! Stop hitting children!

In Nordic Folklore, there are house elves who also play a distinct role in Christmas. Called Nisse in Norway, or Tomte (TOHM-tuh) in Sweden, they’re small elvish creatures between two and three feet tall that generally look like the old cartoon of David the Gnome, with conical hats and long beards. Historically they were believed to be the souls of the first person who cleared and then lived on farmland. They remain on said farms and are, essentially, the manners police of the agrarian north. They have no patience for farmers who mistreat their animals– and there we are in agreement– or for people who don’t follow traditions or are terribly rude. It’s tradition to leave a hot bowl of porridge with a pat of butter on top for the Nisse on Christmas Eve. If you don’t– or if you piss off the gnome in any other way throughout the year– he’ll kill your livestock. 

Mischief and misrule have historically been a part of Solstice festivals going back to Ancient Rome at the very least. Saturnalia, celebrated from about the 17th of December to the 23rd, was a festival celebrated to honor Saturn with the overturning of social norms. Gambleing was legal, gag gifts were given out, a regular dude was appointed a temporary leadership position, and slaves were treated almost humanely, you know, stuff no one would normally do. Though it’s not entirely provable, some people think these traditions may have influenced the English tradition of Lords of Misrule and eventually Mummers plays. Lords of Misrule would enter a household or town and, well, do stupid things to make people happy. In 1603, writer John Stow described the tradition as:

[I]n the feaste of Christmas, there was in the kinges house, wheresoever he was lodged, a Lord of Misrule, or Maister of merry disports, and the like had yee in the house of every noble man, of honor, or good worshippe, were he spirituall or temporall. Amongst the which the Mayor of London, and either of the shiriffes had their several Lordes of Misrule, ever contending without quarrell or offence, who should make the rarest pastimes to delight the Beholders. These Lordes beginning their rule on Alhollon Eve [Halloween], continued the same till the morrow after the Feast of the Purification, commonly called Candlemas day: In all which space there were fine and subtle disguisinges, Maskes and Mummeries, with playing at Cardes for Counters, Nayles and pointes in euery house, more for pastimes then for gaine.

The Feast of the Purification, just so you know, is the same thing as Candlemas and it occurs in early February. It marks the end of the Virgin Mary’s 40 day post-partum period, and it’s also when a lot of people take candles to church to be blessed, as Jesus is the Light of the World. All of this is about birth and darkness and regaining the light, which I find very charming, to be honest. Also, in France, Candlemas comes with crepes, and I can get behind any holiday that is marked with crepes.

In case you didn’t know, the aforementioned Mummers are a post-Purification thing that also has a lot to do with the end of winter and coming of spring. Mummers are masked performers with a tradition going back to at least 1296. The most common type of play includes a wizard with a magic potion, resuscitating a dead hero, so it makes sense why these would be part of a solstice tradition. 

Another tradition from England that I actually really, really like is the Apple Tree Man. The Apple Tree Man is the spirit of the oldest Apple Tree in an orchard, who is in charge of the fertility of the entire grove. In one story, the Apple Tree Man is appeased with an offering of hot, spiced cider on Christmas Eve, though in the more prevalent tradition of Apple Wassailing, dating back to at least the 1500s, people appease the apple gods by going into the orchards on Epiphany Eve, or January 5th, and lay toast on the roots of their apple trees, tie bread and toast to the bows, and pour apple cider on the roots of the trees in offering to the apple gods. There is another, really good SUPERNATURAL episode with a variation on the Apple Tree Man, which really makes me wonder about the writers of SUPERNATURAL and how much time they spent on Wikipedia. 

Anyway, if anyone was going to have some spooky solstice witchery, it’d be Iceland, a nation that gets five hours of sunlight, maximum, during a winter’s day. Grýla is a relative newbie on the block, only really becoming a Christmas tradition in the 1600s. She’s an old woman (what else is new), sometimes called an ogre. She lives in a cave in northern Iceland with her third husband– everything I read about her was very, very specific about it being her third husband and that makes me laugh more than you can even know– and she only emerges from the cave at Yuletide to come into the cities to decide a child’s fate. If it turns out your kid is rotten, she’ll abscond with them and make a stew of them. Contrary to other denizens of Christmas Judgement, there’s no reward from Grýla for being good. Unless one counts living to see six or more hours of sunlight in a day.

Though technically not a spectre or legend to keep kids in line at Holiday time, I’d be bereft if I left out Solokha, the witch/sex worker/protagonist from Nikolai Gogol’s fantastic novella, Christmas Eve, which was the subject of one of our Christmas episodes last season.

The story begins as the devil steals the moon on Christmas eve to avenge himself against the village blacksmith, who has painted unflattering images of him– the devil– on the walls of a church. The blacksmith is the son of Solokha, the local witch. The devil goes to Solokha to speak with her, but must hide in a coal sack as men who have lost their way in the darkness figure, hey, ya know, what else do you in the dark? and make their way to a lady they know provides some company. As each man shows up, Solokha hides them in a coal sack– and then lets her son take them, and he inevitably vanquishes the devil. Is there a moral to this story? Not at all. But like all of Gogol’s writing, the story is hilarious. And very, delightfully witchy.

Somewhat surprisingly, the Italian peninsula is the home of the Vatican but also not one but two Christmas witch traditions, with La Befana rolling in 11 days after Christmas on Epiphany Eve to make her judgement. Per usual, she’s an old woman on a broomstick who flies about the countryside leaving gifts– or coal– in stockings hung by the chimney in care. Or, if you’re in a particularly depressed part of Italy, a stick because coal is expensive. She always, though, sweeps the hearth before she leaves a home, a symbol of sweeping away the bad events of the previous year to make way for the good. More Elf-on-the-Shelf than Krampus, she in fact leaves every child a lump of coal in their stocking because nearly every child has been a little bit naughty at some point during the year, and I really appreciate that bit of poverty-stricken Italian realism. Her biggest fans are the Umbrians and the Romans, where the legend began.

Even though most of this piece has discussed the creepy goat shit of Central Europe, I’d be bereft if I left out the creepy goat shit of NORTHERN Europe, and for that, we have to discuss the Yule Goat. It’s a charming Pagan tradition of saving the last sheaf of harvested grain or corn to dry out and feed to the, well, goat of mid-winter, or Julbocken. It’s a Slavic tradition that goes back to Ukraine, Belarus, and Poland where the god of the fertile sun, Dažbog, came down in the form of a white goat, who walked around demanding presents, sort of like Reverse Santa. Nowadays, the Yule Goat is most frequently associated with Scandinavian Christmas, where in the city of Gävle (yav-leh) they began building a giant straw Yule Goat in the 1960s. Each year, at the beginning of Advent, volunteers build the enormous straw goat and almost every year since it started, someone has burned the goat to the ground. I want to stress that burning the goat is not the purpose of the goat and it is, in fact, illegal. But of course, these dolts who are doing a thing are actually upholding the millennia old tradition OF burning shit during the winter solstice, like Lohri in India, or the tradition of the Viking Up Helly Aa still held today on the Shetland Islands.

And honestly, there’s an interesting little gremlin that I’d never heard of before I wrote this that I’d love to tell you about. Native to the Balkan Peninsula with a range that apparently heads into Northern Turkey, Kallikantzaros (KAL-ee-KAN-tzaros) is a subterranean goblin who spends fifty weeks a year sawing at the trunk of the World Tree, or the tree that holds up the Earth. Just as they’re about to saw through, they realize, hey, it’s really dark up there on the surface, and they put down their saws and head up top. Those two weeks where they stop sawing are the weeks leading up to and after the Winter Solstice, which corresponds pretty much with the Yuletide Season or Christmas to Epiphany on the Christian calendar. They play pranks on humans and demand treats, and after January 6th, the head back down to continue their work, only to find that the World Tree has healed itself and they must start over with their destructive work.

Which, frankly, I consider to be the positive place to end this goofy little term paper episode. As we said in the beginning of our episode on The Hogfather, Jesus is not the reason for the season. He’s one of the newest incarnations of the season. And for thousands and thousands and thousands of years, us silly little people of the northern Hemisphere found reasons to expect better things to come. Often times it’s because we’re threatened with violence from the hands of people who shouldn’t be violent. But I will remind you of this til my dying day: the light is coming. It will not fail. The sun will rise again and this darkness, the threats, the violence, and the sadness are. Not. permanent.