Nikolaos The Man Of Dreams ...and The Legend Of Santa Claus. Armando Lazzari
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as the worst storm, they grabbed almost all the supplies and disappeared swallowed up by the darkness of the woods from which they had come, leaving the poor inhabitants only the terror still nestled in their minds and the hope of a mild winter to survive.
Beyond the woods, on a hillock far away among the low grass of a clearing, the loud laughter of a group of men made their way through the crackling flames of a bonfire. On the ground, piled up, worn and shabby furs were thrown, painted black and red, adorned with chicken feathers, while some terrifying masks of horned demons were performed in mocking ballets.
"Did you see how they shit their pants?" said one.
"All whimpering and calling out for Mummy!"
"It was like seeing a bunch of chickens flying crazy in the yard! Cluck, cluck!"
The parody of frightened people generated even more hilarity than the imitation of the animal that man exhibited to his audience, no doubt due to the large quantities of wine swallowed. The least sober of all was also the only one to notice the anomaly.
"It's okay that I'm used to seeing double, but weren't we thirteen? Who the hell is that?"
Then the eye slipped where it shouldn't have.
"Look at his legs! He has legs shaped like a goat's hoof!" he shouted bewildered.
Everyone stopped celebrating and turned to the hooded figure who hadn't yet taken off his mask.
"Exactly... you mentioned me, my name is Pelznickel!"
Having discovered its face, the being showed its true horrifying nature and so, trembling with fear, men understood that what they saw was not a human being, but a demon.
"I've been watching you guys for a while. You've done a fine job in the village, I'm glad you did, and since your souls are black enough, I decided to give you a gift."
One of the scoundrels, a chubby little dark-skinned, sniffing out the imminent danger, tried to sneak away, but a bewitched hand, made of smoke appeared from the demon's body, was quicker than he was, and stretching too far, took him up unnaturally.
The man, incredulously, wavered furiously suspended in mid-air begging for help among the petrified glances of the others, who remained motionless.
"Let me go, let me go! "Please don't hurt me, I didn't even want to come tonight! They told me there'd be drinks and I'm just a drunk by vocation!" he begged.
"Don't worry, I don't want to hurt you, on the contrary, you will join my special army: real Krampus!"
Other twelve other offshoots, similar to the tentacles of a gigantic octopus, came out from the supernatural being to grab each one its victim and creep into its mouth.
From that moment on, those men stopped being such and their eyes became as black as the night that had enveloped them.
Part I
The abduction of the three children
Chapter 1
Myra, Turkey.
Two hooded men moved swiftly through the cobbled streets of the city. One of them seemed highly doubtful.
"But are you sure this holy man can help me?"
The other, now fed up with the paranoia of his traveling companion, replied annoyingly.
"Again? I've told you countless times! When he was in captivity by order of Diocletian1, his hands were wounded by blessed irons. It seems that these chains were nothing less than those that imprisoned the Nazarene before the crucifixion. From then on his soul was deprived of the ugliest part, and he was transformed into a holy man. If anyone can help you, it's him!"
"You must know that a few years ago there was an onerous matter nagging the blacksmith day and night. In fact, he had promised his three beautiful daughters in marriage to three brave young men from good families. The boys were over the moon because they were madly in love and couldn't wait to fulfil their dream and live a peaceful life together. The blacksmith was so happy, his thoughts so high that, alas, he forgot a cloth near the fire in the workshop. The flames, spreading rapidly, destroyed the place, reducing the blacksmith to misery and desperate for the impossibility of offering his daughters a decent marriage. At that point our dear benefactor came into play, who having always been his client and good friend, decided to help the blacksmith. He was so disinterested in his work that he wanted to help him without people noticing and admiring him, or as he says: 'that your left doesn't know what your right does'. He therefore wanted his action to be known only to God and not to men, for if it had emerged and had the honours of men, he would have lost the merit.
The man listening kept nodding with his head as if he had understood well, but in reality he still missed the meaning of the speech.
"He had great financial means and decided to act in the favour of the night, so he took some gold coins and enclosed them in a cloth, went out of the house and reached the dwelling of the unhappy maidens. As he approached the house, he passed his hand through the window grille and dropped the large bag on the ground. The sudden noise woke up the father who, having discovered the treasure sent from heaven, picked it up and organized the wedding of his eldest daughter."
"Well, I admit it was a very nice gesture..."
"Yes, but that's not the end of it!" he interrupted the other one to resume. "In fact, seeing that the girls' father had made good use of the money he had given them, he decided to repeat the gesture. You can well imagine the blacksmith's joy when he discovered a precious bag again. Thanks to these coins he arranged the marriage of his second daughter. Intuiting the benefactor's plan and therefore the possibility of a third gesture of charity, in the following days he tried to remain vigilant during the night. He burned with the desire to meet the one who had saved his honour. It wasn't long after that, one night, he heard the sound of the third bag falling down making the classic tinkling noise of coins. When the blacksmith spotted a silhouette that was fleeing quickly, he started chasing it and once he reached it he recognized it instantly. But he made him solemnly promise not to reveal it to anyone. Do you see what kind of man he is now?"
"Yes, yes, admirable... although I suppose the blacksmith's promise wasn't kept, otherwise it doesn't explain how you know about it, but surely you had to make a similar promise, didn't you?"
"Details, details... now, hurry up, we're almost there!"
The holy man was kneeling before the altar, immersed in the silence of prayer.
Although he was genuflected, his great size was evident: much taller and stronger than average, it seemed that his muscles were used to work hard, rather than prayer. The well-groomed blonde beard and long wavy hair, together with his ice-blue eyes, made him look more like a northern barbarian than a citizen of the Empire.
The haste that had guided them until then seemed mystically disappeared in the face of the solemnity of the moment, or more simply, neither of them was so bold as to interrupt it, especially because its enormous bulk, accompanied by the fame of those who know how to use their hands well, aroused fear even before respect.
After what seemed like endless minutes, one of the two sketched a simple cough, just to discreetly notify their presence, but the attempt did not bring the desired results.
The two of them, exchanging glances in agreement, gestured to encourage each other to try again with more emphasis. Thus they delivered ever more violent blows, until the Bishop was obliged to pay them attention.
"Brothers, do you need warm milk and honey, or did you want to tell me something important?"
The one who had addressed