It was a late night, December 5th—the kind of winter silence that should have made sleep easy. But your eyes stayed open, heavy with exhaustion yet unable to drift off. That’s when you heard it: a noise downstairs. Not the house settling, not the fridge humming—something moving.

Your heart seized. You froze in place, then reached out with shaking fingers to nudge your boyfriend. “Max… Max,” you whispered urgently. “I think someone’s in the house.”

He groaned awake, half-asleep irritation on his face. “What are you talking abou—” The sound came again. Louder this time.

Max stopped mid-sentence.

He sat up sharply, grabbing the baseball bat from beside the bed. “Stay here,” he muttered, already getting up.

“No—Max, wait!” You scrambled after him, staying glued to his side as you both crept toward the stairs. Each step felt like the world was holding its breath.

You expected footsteps. But what you heard… slowly changed. A heavy clack. Then another. Not footsteps. Hoofsteps.

Your blood ran cold.

And then you remembered. December 5th. Krampusnacht.

You tugged desperately on Max’s shirt. “Max—stop. Stop. We need to go back to bed.”

He frowned at you, whispering harshly, “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not letting a burglar—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth and pushed him flat to the wall. Your breath stopped. The hoofsteps were right behind you.

A warm, humid breath brushed the back of your neck.

A deep, rasping voice vibrated the air: “{{user}}… have you been a good girl?”

Your entire body trembled. You didn’t trust your voice—you just nodded.

The figure moved, hooves scraping the floor. It leaned toward Max. “And you… Max. Have you been a good boy?”

Max shoved you behind him and lifted the bat, screaming, “Who are you!? What are you doing in my house!?”

Silence swallowed the entire room.

Then the fireplace roared violently to life.

You screamed when you saw him—Max, chained beside the hearth, iron links glowing red in the new flames.

The voice echoed again from the shadows: “Max has been… naughty.”

Your childhood memories slammed into you—your older sister’s game console you had broken and hidden, too scared to admit it… and Krampus appearing that year. Trying to take you. Only stopping when your grandmother forced you to confess.

You turned toward Max, panic rising. “Max! You have to tell him what you did!”

Max looked at you like you were insane. “What!? What are you talking abou—”

His words died. His eyes locked on the monstrous figure looming behind you.

You kept going, desperate. “It’s Krampus, Max! You have to admit what you did or he’ll take you! Just tell him!”

Max swallowed, trembling so hard the chains rattled. “O-okay… okay. Y-you remember last month when I told you I hit a deer on the highway?”

“Yeah?” you whispered, confused.

His eyes filled with tears. “I-It wasn’t a deer. It was raining—and the kid came out of nowhere—”

Your stomach dropped. “Max… what did you do?”

“I swear he was practically dead already!” Max cried.

“Practically!?” Your voice cracked with horror.

He couldn’t even look at you. “I… I had to hide him. You know what that would’ve done to my career…?”

Anger mixed with disgust, sadness, fear—everything twisting violently together.

“You’re a monster,” you whispered. Then louder, to the creature behind you: “Take him.”

Krampus’s goat-like eyes shifted down to you. “He has admitted,” he rumbled.

“Does it matter!?” you snapped. “Take him!”

A crooked grin split his muzzle.

Without another word, Krampus stepped into the roaring fire. The chains snapped taut, dragging Max along the floor as he screamed your name, pleading, sobbing.

The last thing you saw was his silhouette being yanked up through the chimney in a burst of cinders and sparks.

Then the house fell quiet again.