Santa had no choice, really. Polls had shown a steep drop in popularity—more children believed in the Tooth Fairy than in him. It was either merge with the Demon Goat or shut down operations. Thus, the North Pole was now officially a division of Krampus, Inc.
On Christmas Eve, Santa tried to forget the recent atrocities: the ever-present shadow goblins, the missing elves…
Thunderous hoof-steps made him turn. Krampus towered over Santa — he wore the elf’s red suit, hat dangling from one horn. Slinging an empty sack over his shoulder, the demon growled, “I’m gonna need your Naughty List.”
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>