I'm screaming of a fright Christmas - a Yuletide folk horror roundup
In Austria and southern Germany, it’s a demonic goatman who thrashes naughty children with a bundle of sticks. In Iceland, it’s a witch/ogress who kidnaps and stews them. In France, it’s a cannibalistic butcher. For every Santa, there is an anti-Santa.
In parts of central and eastern Europe in particular, there’s a proud tradition of scaring the shit out of kids (and probably a lot of adults too) at Christmas. But there’s something genius about giving the Saint Nicholas/Santa character, who embodies goodness and generosity in numerous cultures, an evil counterpart. There is, after all, no light without dark. Every story needs a villain, and without Hans Gruber, Die Hard would be a film about a man visiting his wife. Without Satan, The Exorcist would be a film about an eleven-year-old girl hanging out. Both of which sound very French and thought-provoking, but ultimately: tedious.
The Austrian/Bavarian Christmas goatman, of course, is the Krampus; a folk horror design classic so grotesque that you have to wonder how many kids who grew up in his presence require years of therapy in later life. Although a friend of mine from rural Austria (Krampus central), when I asked her, had very fond childhood memories of being threatened with thrashings by a monster that makes Freddy Krueger look like the Easter Bunny. She frowned at the notion that Christmas, for me, wasn’t a time where the fear of God was hung over me like a mistletoe noose.
Krampus – who is thought by some historians to have Pagan origins - is there to do Saint Nicholas’s dirty work. Krampusnacht (Krampus night) on the fifth of December, is when people dressed as him parade through the streets, threatening children with violence. It’s a quaint custom. But Krampus – in all his horned, shark-toothed glory – possibly isn’t even the scariest of the European anti-Santas.
The Schnabelperchten, a folkloric entity unique to the Austrian Alps (again Austria, really?), is a sort of old woman whose entire face is a giant beak. She’s said to go from house to house on January 5th (the eve of Epiphany) inspecting the tidiness of people’s homes. And if someone’s tidying isn’t up to scratch, she eviscerates them with a giant pair of shears, and stuffs them with their own mess. Which – and I say this as the resident tidy one in my house – seems like… an overreaction?
Head way up north to Iceland, and you might encounter Grýla the Christmas witch. Accounts of Grýla date back to the 13th century, in which she can be found in sagas and poems. She wasn’t originally associated with Christmas, but – over the centuries – Icelandic parents must’ve discovered the merits of making kids behave for their presents, and made her a festive stalwart. The troll-like being is supposed to come down from her cave before Christmas, and gather naughty children to make into a stew. A misandrist icon: her husband bored her, so she ate him.
Also native to Iceland is the Yule Cat – a giant feline who visits children on Christmas Eve and, if they haven’t been gifted any new clothes, eats them. Again with the eating. Seems like a pretty Tory approach to poverty, this. Dressed in rags? Prepare to be violently consumed and shat!
Down in France, the predominant anti-Santa is Père Fouettard (Father Whipper). This monk-looking character fulfils pretty much the same role as Krampus. He acts as Santa’s enforcer, doling out beatings to children who have misbehaved. According to a 12th century tale from northern France, a butcher kidnapped three children, slit their throats, intent on stripping them of their meat and eating them. The children were brought back from the dead by St Nicholas, who somehow saw this whole situation as a business opportunity, offering Père Fouettard a job as his evil servant.
In short, British children are clearly coddled (except maybe Welsh ones, who might encounter a hooded horse skull called the Mari Lwyd). But, in general, there isn’t a mainstream British anti-Santa. If we were to pick one, no one on this Hell island would fulfil the role better than Leader of the House of Commons, and Conservative MP for North East Somerset, Jacob Rees-Mogg. Rees-Mogg – a sort of spindly-framed ghost of a Victorian miser who died of his own mean spiritedness – is that guy who just called Unicef’s programme to feed hungry children in the UK a “political stunt”. With a net worth of around £100 million, he’s one of those Christians who thinks they can get by purely on hating gays and abortion, and without any of the “helping the less fortunate” stuff. He could appear on Christmas Eve, in coattails and a top hat, and – on the grounds that gift giving is a bit socialist – steal children’s presents. He could appear at the end of their beds – dead-eyed, more skeleton than man – and talk to them about interest rates.
So be good, kids, or Jacob Rees-Mogg might get you this Christmas. Literally.