When Edgar Loesch was growing up, Christmas meant family, St. Nicholas — and a terrifying warning: Krampus, a hairy, horned monster who would carry off misbehaving children. His German parents would rattle chains outside his window to sell the story. “You go to bed, and then suddenly at some point you hear like somebody shuffling outside a bedroom door, scratching on the door,” Loesch remembers.
Krampus is gruesome: goat horns, gnashing teeth and a long tongue meant to taste sin. But the creature has also been embraced. Loesch now owns Fressen Artisan Bakery in Portland, Ore., which recently hosted families posing for holiday portraits with a snarling Krampus instead of a jolly Santa. Some kids gave the beast a high five; others cried. Parents and dogs joined in front of an Alpine backdrop while guests munched pfeffernüsse and stollen.
Christmas beasts like Krampus have deep roots. Folklorist Sarah Clegg, author of The Dead of Winter: Beware the Krampus and Other Wicked Christmas Creatures, says medieval year-end celebrations were chaotic and spooky, descended from pre-Christian Saturnalia. Costumed processions went door to door — sometimes demanding treats, money or alcohol. By the 1500s a child-eating figure appeared in European lore: a ragged monster stuffing children into his mouth. Over time that figure shifted into early-December festivities around St. Nicholas, becoming a dark foil to the saint.
By the late 1800s Krampus became prominent in part because of merch: Krampus postcards, chocolates and novelty items produced in places like Salzburg, Austria, spread the image worldwide. Clegg notes postcards ranged from scary to silly to risqué — there were even sexy or debonair Krampus cards.
Recently Krampus has re-entered popular culture in the U.S.: children’s books, a Krampus horror film, and organized Krampus events from San Antonio to Des Moines. In Portland, about 150 Krampuses and fans gathered for the fifteenth annual Krampuslauf parade. At a glance the group resembled carolers, but closer inspection revealed horns, bloody doll parts, and homemade birch switches. Despite the menacing look, no children were harmed; some participants handed out candy from sacks rather than stuffing anyone into them.
Arun Joseph Ragan, who started the Portland parade more than 15 years ago, says he never felt much connection with the overwhelmingly merry side of the season and preferred to lean into winter’s darkness. Krampus, he says, offers a lesson: to make peace with winter by inviting its spirit to your celebration so it doesn’t sneak up on you. As daylight fades early in winter — the sun setting around 4:30 p.m. — embracing that darkness, having a little fun with it, and maybe scaring a few kids along the way feels right to some.