A Noel Adventure
By: Abo. Akoto
Tags: Short Story, Poetry, Fiction, Christmas, Fantasy

Angry bells are pealing in my ears. Too many voices chirp at once. I can’t move. Why is it so dark?

My eyes open.

Green. On the ground beneath our feet, in the canopy above us where the birds rudely gossip in a language I don’t yet speak.

How did we end up in a forest?

Paa Kwasi groans from my left. When I move to check on him, I notice the ropes binding me to a tree.

And that we’re not alone.

Seven others, like us, are tied to trees; their stricken faces reflect my fear and confusion.

“Where’re we?” Nana Yaw mumbles from my right.

“SILENCE!”

A hush falls over the forest.

I look around for the speaker but my nose finds him before my eyes do. I resist the urge to hold my breath. A stench this bad smells worse when inhaled in bits and pieces.

Our captor steps into view: a bulky man in a red coat and trousers. Just like Ashley describes her Santa Claus.

Except this one has horns. Ashley never mentioned horns.

“My name is Krampus.”

Krampus? I know that name from somewhere.

“I’ve chosen you all as special guests for a special feast this evening.” He grins, a mouthful of yellow teeth. “Now stay put while I finish the preparations. Don’t make a sound. If I so much as hear a twig snap,” he brandishes a whip, “you’ll all have a very dead Christmas.”

His laughter rattles the branches as he stalks off. But his odour doesn’t follow; it lingers like a stern sentry standing guard.

“Christ!” Paa Kwasi sneezes. “He stinks worse than your uncle’s billy-goats, Nana.”

Nana Yaw grunts in response, his eyes closed as if in meditation.

The seven stay silent, too scared to defy Krampus.

But rules never last long in my care. No matter how hard I try to keep them, they slip from my grasp like wet glass. And break.

“Hi,” I whisper. “I’m Noelle.” I gesture to the others with my chin. “They’re Paa Kwasi and Nana Yaw. What are your names?”

The seven glance at each other, waiting for someone to go first.

“My name’s Mwamba,” says the boy with Afro hair. “I’m from Tanzania.”

Tanzania?

The others open up: Amaka from Nigeria, Yan and Salomé from Cote d’Ivoire, Lindiwe from South Africa and a bunch of other beautiful names uttered with delightful accents I’ll try to imitate if we survive.

“Ten of us abducted from different parts of Africa on Christmas Eve?” says Jimiyu, the boy from Kenya. “Is this Krampus trying to assemble the AU?”

My face scrunches up.

Ten children abducted on Christmas Eve. I roll the sentence around in my brain till a buzzer goes off.

Krampus! Santa Claus’ evil twin. The one who flees his prison every December 24th to capture ten children to eat.

My eyes widen.

We weren’t here for a feast. We were the feast!

I interrogate the seven: how they got here, how long they’ve been here, what brand of firecrackers they’d been playing with, if they still had them.

I tear a sheet of paper from my imagination and sketch an escape plan with the answers. Collecting more clues from Ashley’s stories about the myths of Krampus, I rotate and rearrange the pieces till I solve the jigsaw puzzle.

“I have an idea.”

Eighteen eyes probe me from all sides.

I outline my theory on how Krampus rigged ten packs of Firebomb! crackers to open portals into our worlds. And how they’re our way back home.

“I don’t understand,” Amaka says. “If he’s from Western myth, why target us?”

“Perhaps he assumed we’ve never heard of him,” I shrug, “much less know how to outwit him.”

“And you think the crackers are the key?” Imani, the girl from Angola, asks.

“Yes, this is his only window. And if we close it, he won’t be able to capture anyone else till next year. By then, well, perhaps he’d have starved to death.”

Mwamba shakes his head. “This all sounds a little –“

“Far-fetched?” My brows shoot up. “More far-fetched than teleporting from a city to a forest in God-knows-where? More far-fetched than being held captive by a half-man, half-goat, half-demon?”

I nod toward the darkening sky. “It’s almost sundown. And some of you,” I stare straight at Mwamba and Lindiwe, “live in different time zones. So when Krampus’ Christmas dinner starts, you’ll be the appetizer.”

“Okay, okay,” Lindiwe says. “But we’re tied up. So how will we…?”

The ropes restraining Nana Yaw unravel by themselves and drop to the ground.

Salomé’s jaw lands next to them. “How did you –?”

“Magic.” He laughs. “Sorry, I’d have broken free sooner but that horrible smell made it difficult to concentrate.”

As grateful as I am for his talents, he really spooks me sometimes.

After untying us, he retrieves the Firebomb! from his pocket and hands it to me.

“I can’t find mine.” Paa Kwasi pats his pockets and kicks up leaves in search of the knockout.

“No, it’s okay. We only need one from each country.”

The others turn over their crackers and take cover behind the trees. I ignite the bundle and join them, my palms clamped over my ears.

BOOM!

When the smoke clears, a spiral-shaped hole is in the ground.

Yan punches the air. “It worked!”

A deep bellow from the east interrupts our cheering.

Krampus!

“Hurry!” I yell to them.

Lindiwe jumps first. The portal shrinks an inch after she disappears.

As Krampus’ stomping feet shake the earth, I quickly usher the others through the narrowing portal till it’s left with us musketeers and Mwamba.

He touches my shoulder. “Thank you.”

Nana Yaw pushes him in. “You’re welcome.”

A familiar stench permeates the air. Krampus sprints toward us, fury puffing from his ears and nostrils.

I grab my friends’ hands. And together, we leap into the eye of the hurricane right before it seals shut. The echo of Krampus’ “NOOO!” swirls around us as we slide down the pitch-black, tunnel-like portal.

We meander in sharp twists and turns, our screams muffled by howling winds. A glimmer of light in the distance widens like a yawning mouth at its apex.

Till the portal spits us out and vanishes.

When stars stop spinning round our heads, we stagger to our feet and scan our surroundings. It’s nightfall now, but the streetlights spray-paint the alley yellow.

“We’re back!” Paa Kwasi shouts.

Nana Yaw nudges me. “Whiz-girl strikes again.”

I mock-punch him on the arm. He pretends to stumble backwards and steps on something.

A Firebomb! cracker.

Paa Kwasi picks it up. “Ah, here it is! I must’ve dropped it during the first blast.”

I pocket it as a reminder of our little adventure which we agree to keep to ourselves. Who’d believe us anyway?

As we exchange see-you-tomorrows, gunshots ring out overhead. We look up in time to see dazzling lights from a knockout form spider patterns in the sky. Laughing at the irony, we cheer along with the small crowd at each successive bang till the stellar lightshow ends.

Back home, I narrate to Mum how I served the mute old lady who lives in the last house on our lane. How I fetched water to fill her thousand barrels. And how I swept each of the thousand rooms in her one-bedroom house.

Because she’s always telling me to help those less fortunate than myself.

Mum hugs me six ways to Sunday but Gabrielle gives me the side-eye. I stick out my tongue at her and kiss Mum on the cheek when she promises to double my allowance. As I hula hoop in excitement, the firecracker falls and lands at her feet.

Oh crap.