On cold, dark winter nights, you might catch a glimpse of a horned figure stalking through
the streets.
With a basket strapped to its back and a switch in hand, the demonic Krampus isn’t interested
in giving gifts but doling out brutal punishments.
Krampus is the dark foil to St. Nicholas, the miraculous Catholic bishop credited with
bringing small gifts of sweets, nuts, and fruit to good little boys and girls in early
December (and yes, one of the inspirations behind jolly old you-know-who).
But what are the origins of the demonic horned creature?
You might be surprised to learn this winter monster isn’t as old as you might have been
led to believe.
And even more importantly—why invent a Yuletide character that literally beats children into
submission?
[Monstrum Intro.]
The Krampus’s historical origins are generally believed to have emerged onto the Yuletide
scene in Slavic and Austrian celebrations.
Winter festivals in the Alpine regions of Austria, Hungary, Slovenia, Croatia, Germany,
and Italy all feature versions of this monstrous anti-Santa, though originally “Krampus”
was really more of a category of monster rather than the name of an individual creature.
The word itself comes either from the Middle German for ‘claw’ (Kralle) or the Bavarian
word for something lifeless and dried out (Krampn), with plenty of regional variations
[Kramperl, Klaubauf, Tuifl].
Half-goat, half-demon, Krampus are fanged, with cloven feet and often long, pointed tongues.
The oldest and most traditional versions have multiple sets of horns.
They may carry a pitchfork and a basket to collect children in.
And they always have that switch in their hand—most often one made of birch branches.
The better to beat you with, my dear.
Yep, that’s what this charming monster does—doles out corporal punishment to children who misbehave.
Krampus emerged in Alpine folklore alongside celebrations of St. Nicholas.
At first it was more of an idea—an amorphous, threatening boogeyman parents evoked to keep
kids in line when food was scarce and attention wavered during the long dark nights of winter
in the mountains.
Nice children received presents from St. Nick, naughty children received a birch branch spanking
from Krampus, or worse.
The most wickedly behaved were shackled and tossed into the monster’s wooden basket
to be carried away to the fires of Hell.
Or, y’know, eaten by the Krampus.
The traditions connecting Krampus and St. Nicholas seem interwoven through time, despite
some conflicting versions of how they came to be associated.
There is evidence of performances that link the Krampus to Satan in Jesuit theatre and
the monster frequently appears in St. Nicholas plays, so it is possible that the beast was
constructed to represent the opposite of divinity.
Detailed descriptions of Krampus only emerge in the 19th century when folklorists began
recording the costumes worn during Krampuslauf [Krampus-laouf], or “Krampus run.”
In the Alpine region, December 5 marks a celebratory—and usually drunken—parade in which people dressed
as Krampus walk through the streets, scaring bystanders, and chasing down the really unlucky
ones.
Even if people dressed as Krampus don’t actually injure people they are a symbolic
threat of violence and rebellion against decorum.
In some regions, Krampus troops stalk the streets from November to Christmas.
These troops consist of multiple revelers, and it's considered an honor, and often a
rite of passage to don the horns.
In the oldest traditions of the Alpine region, Krampus revelers would either blacken their
faces, don a dark false beard, and dress in dark clothing, or they wore wooden masks and
long fur coats, sporting belts with large bells, and that switch in their hand, of course.
In Catholic areas, where fear of the devil was stronger, the costume included horns to
highlight their evil nature.
​​Krampus masks are often called “Larven” from the Latin word larva that means both
mask and ghost.
Traditional masks are grotesque; with exaggerated features and gaping mouths, accented by massive
animal horns—usually multiple pairs from different animals.
The woodcarvers who craft these masks are considered well-respected masters.
Also in the mid-19th century, the monster became associated with Santa Claus, the more
secular version of St. Nicholas.
Around this time is also where we see the moniker ‘Krampus’ emerge.
In 1862, a newspaper in Budapest was published under Krampus’s name [Krampuszok ], and
in 1865 it published an image of Santa Claus with Krampus lurking behind him, solidifying
the creature’s appearance and transferring the connection to the Christian holiday of
Christmas rather than the holy saint’s feast day.
Claims that Krampus is derived from pagan traditions intending to drive away winter
and evil spirits in an ancient fertility rite are unfounded— in reality, there is no evidence
for this.
Scholars found that the false pagan origin story of Krampus was invented in the early
20th century by socialist folklorists attempting to cast Christianity as a practice that sullied
ancient Nordic customs.
The Nazi Party reinforced this false claim, publishing a photo essay portraying the Krampus
as an “ancient custom” “banned for its pagan roots.”
In reality, Krampus nights weren’t recorded until 1582 in the Bavarian town of Diessen
in passing reference under the name Percht.
The Perchten are mischievous Alpine spirits and the likely folkloric precursors to the
Krampus.
Documents from the 17th and 18th centuries show Salzburg archbishops trying to ban the
Krampus tradition—with little success.
Interestingly, these bans were not about the monster itself but were aimed at curbing the
raucous celebrations that accompanied them.
In the 19th century, the Krampuslauf tradition dwindled, preserved only in a small number
of Austrian and German towns until the 1870s as consumerism boomed.
More specifically, red postcards with illustrations of the monster appeared in Austria-Hungary
in the later-half of the century.
Austria’s postal system became the first to deliver postcards in 1867—making the
sending of Krampus cards in the late 1880s possible, and financially viable.
The cards became incredibly popular, a nostalgic reminder for Austrians and Germans who moved
from rural areas where Krampus runs were popular, to industrialized cities.
Unsurprisingly, these postcards often show the horned monster punishing children.
Or, in a seemingly bizarre twist, accompanied by semi-naked women.
Perhaps because of these associations with both youth and sexuality, in some parts of
Austria, children are told that being hit with Krampus’s switch brings fertility.
While globally Krampus’ popularity suffered from the early-20th century associations with
Socialism and the Nazi Party, in the later part of the century the demonic figure has
made a comeback.
Since the turn of the 21st century, Krampus events have become larger and more numerous
across the globe.
Whether this is due to a renewed interest in preserving traditional regional customs
as globalization emerges, or a rebellious response to the over commodification and commercialization
of Christmas—the death metal version of Santa is making a play to take back the winter
holidays.
The Internet’s discovery of the 19th century Krampus cards brought renewed interest to
the monster.
In 2012 an episode of the Scooby-Doo!
Mystery Incorporated cartoon focused on the Krampus.
And that same year, Gerald Brom’s book Krampus: the Yule Lord, further increased the popularity
of the monster—and connected him to a false backstory in Nordic mythology and made him
an enemy of Santa Claus.
Movies, books, and other popular culture texts in America have perpetuated the connection
between Santa and Krampus.
Horror films featuring the Krampus emerged around 2010, and the monster has been a staple
ever since.
The 2015 film Krampus plays on the Santa Claus/Krampus connection explicitly—with Krampus coming
down chimneys, wearing a red fur-trimmed coat—and slaughtering people.
Commercialism, morbid fascination, reclamation—whatever draws people to Krampus allows tradition to
be shared and preserved.
In 2014, UNESCO even declared the Krampus-play of the town of Oblarn in Styria as vital to
the cultural heritage of humanity.
Which proves to me that it’s not only the good guys that get immortalized—the monsters
get their place in history too.
So this winter holiday season don’t forget to play nice boys and girls—or you might
get a visit from this Yuletide monster.