Every 5th of December evening, dear old Saint Nicholas visited our village. He would come knocking on the door of every house with children, bringing joy and presents. Parents would open the door and call for their offspring to be presented. The sight was always quite magnificent. Saint Nicholas was always tall, strong build with bushy white beard, dressed in white coat with white hat of the local church. In one hand he carried a white staff, decorated with simple carvings but absolutely stunning nonetheless. Next to him were two angels. Angels were always so beautiful, smaller than Saint Nicholas, dressed in white robes, white boots, with a halo above their golden hair and white wings with golden trim on their backs. One angel carried a white book with golden trim, where all the names of good children could be found, while the other carried a black book with red trim, for the bad children.

Children would watch in awe at the sight. One time per year angels and Saints would come to your house just for you. Saint Nicholas would then inquire about children's well-being, how school is going, how they are behaving. Parents would either sing praises or not. Occasionally parents would berate their children and angels would lose their smile. They would hide their face behind Saint Nicholas and every child would feel shame. After the introduction Saint Nicholas would ask for a prayer. A child or children would step forward and say whatever prayer they want. Younger children usually pray simpler prayers and older children are expected to show off their knowledge.

After the prayers are said, Saint Nicholas pats the heads of children, opens up his bag and gives them a toy, a treat, a book or a fruit. Sometimes even coals. Depends on the age of the child, how good he behaves and if he said his prayers well. He then says his goodbyes, warns you to listen to your parents and leaves. Doors close and you go to sleep, only to wake up to a pile of presents the next morning. If you were good.

There is one thing that is absolutely scary about dear old Saint Nicholas. When he would visit you, you would occasionally hear the rattle of chains from behind him. As a young child you don't know what it is and even if you ask, they will tell you that only the bad kids know about it. But as years progress so does the rattling. It comes closer and closer until one day you see a red face behind one of the angels. Red face with black horns, black wild hair, fangs instead of teeth and crazy eyes. The devils, they are called. Chained by the chains forged by the heavens, the Saint would assure you. If parents would say you were bad this year, the devil will come up front replacing one of the angels. They were really a horrifying sight, not just because of the face. They were dressed in animal skins, wrapped around their bodies with rope and they had hooves for feet. Their hands were wrapped by chains and the chain would trail down to their feet, which were also loosely bound. They would often reach for the bad child, making the chains rattle more and more.

I was seven when I saw my first devil and you can be sure it set me straight for a whole year. At ten I was old enough to realize that Saint Nicholas was our local priest dressed up, the angels were local girls and the devil was one of the altar boys. I still believed in Saint Nicholas, but I knew that he needed help with the presents and our priest was very helpful.

Older I got, the more I got to participate in other fun traditions that my village had. After the priest would go visit some other villages nearby, taking the angels with him, the village boys would dress up in devil costumes and chase younger boys and girls who were out in the dark. If they caught anyone they would chain them up by a light pole in the street and demand a prayer. When a prayer was said, the child was released. Of course it was all in good fun. Child would then run away and tease the devil, how slow he is with those chains and that surely this time he would not be able to catch anyone.

I participated in those games as well. I was caught often and prayed as any good girl would do. As I got older I did not pray, and so I was chained to a pole until my father demanded me home because it was getting late. I then said my prayer and left on my merry way. Oh to be young again.

Later when I went to high school out of our little town, I told people of these traditions and they mocked me. They called it a silly and catholic invention to make little kids more religious and to make them pray. I didn't really care. Fifth of December was always one of my favourite nights, even if I stopped participating as I was older. Of course I also learned that boys usually get a bit tipsy during their time as the devils and that's why they are so eager to catch little children. It's almost a rite of passage for 16 or 17 year olds to put on scary masks and costumes, take the sip of their first drink and chase or supervise the younglings. We had a clubhouse in the village for young adults, where the alcohol and costumes were kept for several generations. It was a tradition that originated before Christianity ever came to the region and simply adapted to new religions. Not that we cared much. All we wanted was to have some fun and laugh. An occasional drink from forbidden alcohol was a mighty boon as well.

I lost my faith as I grew up. I look back fondly on those times when I prayed as a child, but as I grew older I saw more and more faults. Not with religion but with the church. We learned about the real Saint Nicholas, were exposed to American Santa Claus and heard about Father Winter from the North. Traditions in my village slowly stopped and by the time I was an adult, there were no more late night chases or rattling of the chains by the local devils. I would look outside on the fifth of December and see nothing. I moved away soon, saddened that my children will never get to experience the joy of being tied up to a pole by chains because you wouldn't say your prayers.

My brother had recently had a child and invited me to be his godmother. The christening was on the third of December so I took a whole week off, to visit my friends and family. It was a lovely service and I pledged myself to steer this newborn into the direction of the one true faith. Not that I really believed it anymore, but no one really asked me that. As a present I got my godson a golden necklace with a little lamb, that he can wear as he gets older. It's a traditional christening present for any newborn and highly appreciated.

I was staying with my parents for the week. My room on the first floor was transformed into a sewing room, so I was staying in my brother's bedroom on the ground floor. On the fifth, my parents joked that it's too bad I don't go to church every Sunday, because I will most likely only get coals for presents this year. I told them that at my age coals are actually a pretty neat present and that shut them up.

I loved the view from the window. I had the perfect view of the middle of the village, the grand four way crossroad. Two roads lead to the end of the village and two were main roads connecting my village to the outside world. Right next to the crossroads there was a strong lamp, illuminating everything around it. It's where the kids would play hide and seek. There was almost no traffic in the village so roads were considered quite safe and children played on them often. I dozed off, watching the crossroads, when something woke me up. I looked at the clock and it was a few minutes past midnight. I decided to just go to bed and get a few hours of sleep, when I heard the noise that woke me up again. It sounded like chains being dragged on the floor.

I smiled to myself, remembering that it's only the devils chasing the kids around. But there were no screams of joy or teasing. Also it was quite late to be playing. Rattling of the chains now grew stronger as if someone was running toward the house. I decided that whoever it was, he needed to cool it down. It was late and people were sleeping. I put on my comfy warm slippers and walked outside. But there was nothing there. No boys in costumes, no chains, no children running around. I walked to the mailbox and looked in all directions. That's when I saw a small child running toward the back of the house into the dark. There was a maniacal laughter coming from that direction and chains being dragged. I heard a scream and started running toward it. It didn't sound like a fun scream but someone who was scared out of their mind. I saw a little kid, hunched down in the shadows, hands covering his eyes and a devil standing above him. Shadows made it difficult to be seen, but I could have sworn the devil's tail moved.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"What is going on around here?" I asked loudly. The devil turned toward me and I have to say the mask was… uncomfortably well done. Movie grade. I dismissed my thoughts as it was in the shadows and shadows are always kind to costumes. I walked toward the kid, past the devil and went on my knees to be his height. I put my hand on his shoulders to reassure him.

"Run along home little guy, and remember for next time, if you pray they leave you alone." Kid moved his hands and looked at me and I gasped. There was just enough light coming from the house next door that it illuminated his face. He had no eyes. Where there should have been eyes there was nothing but empty gaping holes. I fell on my butt in horror as there was no mask that could be this accurate. The kid smiled and it can only be described as evil. It tried to touch me with his hands and I scrambled on my butt away from him. I didn't go far as I hit something with my back. It was the devil.

I looked down and saw a hoof. Cold dread made me shiver. Hoof was most definitely real. There were long red hairs sticking out, almost like fur, but they were as hard as needles. So hard they pricked my clothes and I felt them through my skin. I didn't look up. It couldn't have been real. It's all just an elaborate prank. With some really wicked costumes.

I felt it's hands on my shoulders as I was pulled up on my feet. Suddenly I was standing face to chest of the bigger devil. I could see and smell it's clothes. It smelled foul, rotten and burned at the same time. It took my hands and wrapped them in chains! I started to yank away and tried to scream but I couldn't! Somehow I managed to get one of my hands free and I kicked the devil, yanking my other hand free. I could feel my skin tearing but I didn't care. I was free and I hightailed it home. I heard a loud snap but I didn't look back.

Something wrapped around my neck. It was so fast and so unexpected it stopped me in my tracks and pulled me back. My hands went to my neck to protect myself but it tightened and I couldn't breathe. I was laying on my back, trying to get the chain off me. I managed to get to a better lighted area so I was really hoping someone would notice me, but the houses remained silent. The devil went ahead of me into the light, dragging the chain behind. That caused me to be dragged along with it. I was in panic. It was really hard to breathe and when I could take a breath it hurt like hell! I know my neck was badly hurt, I was hit with a fucking chain! Chain loosened just a bit which allowed me to put my fingers up to my neck and get me some breathing room.

We were in the middle of the crossroads now, under the brightest light. The devil grabbed me and helped me stand. From behind he pulled a pole, extended it and slammed it in the ground. He then pushed me to stand next to the pole and gave the chain to the child. The child laughed but that was no children's laugh. It was deep and it was more of a cackle than a laugh. The ‘evil queen’ laugh just in a man's voice. It ran around me, holding the chains, tightening me to the pole with every step. Once I was properly secured the big devil loosened my neck and allowed me to take some very deep breaths and he pulled my hands somewhat free so they stuck up. I clasped them together in a prayer and that made him smile. I prayed silently, every prayer my adult brain, that had no practice in praying for the past few years could remember.

It said something to me, but I couldn't understand. The language was nothing I had ever heard and I knew several languages. The child stepped next to him and translated. His voice was deep and masculine and it matched the laughter, just not the body.

"Good, you remember! We remember you little girl. We saw you many years ago." I stopped praying. I took a long look at the devil in front. It was as if the costume that the boys in my youth wore came to life. It had dark red skin with scars everywhere, two big black horns on top of his head and a mane of black hair that trailed all the way to his back. His eyes were black with red irises and they were oval shaped. It wore the skin of dead animals, but the skins were not treated. It had specks of blood everywhere and jagged cuts as if the animals were still alive when the skinning took place. Smaller chains were wrapped around him, holding skins in place. The skins were long enough to cover him all the way to the knees as if it was a tunic or a very long shirt. Oddly enough, the little kid looked like a normal kid. Except it had no eyes of course.

"I don't understand." I said as loud as I could. But my throat was badly hurt and I could barely talk. It said something to me again and pointed around. The child translated again.

"Every year our master Krampus would tell me to come here and make sure that the children behave themself. We like the bad kids. They taste the most delicious! But every year I would come and there would be others. Others like me, chasing children. And children would pray and light enveloped them and we knew all the children were good and we found no bad children here. So I would watch and then leave. But in the past few years there were no devils! No devils running around catching children to see who was bad and who was good! Without our master we are not allowed in people's houses so all we can do here is wait all night to see if children would come."

I stared. This was kind of funny. Funny and horrifying. Was this real? Krampus?! The evil Saint Nicholas who takes the bad children away and eats them? The devil continued his tale of woe.

"So I asked the little devil to come with me this year to help me get the children out." The little devil gave me an angelic smile and if he had eyes he would be a very cute kid. Now he just looked creepy.

"But what has that got to do with me?" I whispered.

"I'm not a child. And I've been good!" I added! But the devil laughs.

"I've seen you before. You were captured by a little devil and you prayed and you ran. But the light is gone now. Only children get the light… and you are no child" I swallowed. The big devil came closer and dragged a claw on my cheek.

"You may be big but I'm sure you will still taste nice?" It hurt. It was as if there was a burn on my cheek. I could feel tears fall from my eyes and I remembered. I was scared shitless, but my grandma would always say that the devils can't hurt you if you pray and that you can always gamble with one. Problem is, I have no idea what games I could play and win, but this was the sixth of December now and prayer should work. Hopefully.

"You can't take me." I said confidently.

"Even if I no longer believe in my prayers, I am a good person. You can only take bad children or bad people with you. And I am not bad!" I almost screamed during the last part. The devil laughed. The child laughed. I shivered. There was one prayer I knew by heart. It was a prayer to the angels and a prayer that the youngest children are taught to pray every night before going to bed.

Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love, commits me here, ever this day, be at my side, to light and guard, rule and guide. Amen.

I didn't believe in the church. The organization of it sickened me. But I am Catholic, raised and baptized. I had a guardian angel that was with me from the day I was born to the day I die. That is what I was raised to believe in and it shouldn't matter what I believe now. I closed my eyes and prayed. I didn't listen to the devil or the child, I just prayed. I prayed until the chains loosened and I repeated the same prayer until I was numb. Slowly I opened my eyes, still praying, and looked around. I was alone.

I ran as fast as my legs would take me to go back home, crying, shivering. I locked the doors and collapsed. That's where my parents found me in the early morning. I had a massive bruise on my neck and I tried to explain what happened. They laughed and said that local kids haven't done the devils in years. I must have dreamed it. Once they saw the bruises they conceded that maybe someone was outside, playing the devil and they went too far.

I left the village that day and returned home. I'm writing to the local priest, what a shame it is that local traditions are going out of style and that we should really do something about that. I would be glad to donate money if that was the issue. He assured me that we can work something out and by next year the kids will be visited by Saint Nicholas at their home, praying to the angels.

Don't let the traditions die or you risk finding out why they were there in the first place.