When Edgar Loesch was a child, his German parents filled Christmas with St. Nicholas — and with a terrifying warning: behave, or a hairy monster called Krampus would carry you off. With goat horns, gnashing teeth and a long tongue to taste sins, Krampus was meant to frighten. Loesch recalls his parents sneaking outside to rattle chains: “You go to bed, and then suddenly at some point you hear like somebody shuffling outside a bedroom door, scratching on the door,” he says.
Loesch has since embraced the figure. He owns Fressen Artisan Bakery in Portland, Ore., which recently hosted families eating pfeffernüsse and stollen and lining up for holiday portraits — not with a smiling Santa but with a snarling Krampus posed before an Alpine backdrop. Some people mugged for mock fear, others high-fived the beast, and a few children cried.
Krampus and similar monsters have long been part of Christmas-time customs. Folklorist Sarah Clegg, author of The Dead of Winter: Beware the Krampus and Other Wicked Christmas Creatures, explains that late-year celebrations in medieval Europe were chaotic and spooky, drawing on pre-Christian Saturnalia traditions. Costumed processionals went door to door demanding treats, money or alcohol, sometimes wearing antlers. By the 1500s a child-eating figure appears in the record — lank-haired, ragged and said to stuff children into his mouth. Over time that monstrous role migrated to early December, becoming a dark counterpart to St. Nicholas: the stick to Santa’s carrot.
By the late 1800s Krampus emerged as the most recognized of these figures, in part because of merchandise: chocolates, toys, pepper grinders and especially Krampus postcards produced in places like Salzburg that could be cheaply mailed. The postcards ranged from scary to silly to risqué — Clegg notes there were “sexy Krampus” cards and other adult-oriented variations.
In recent years Krampus has returned to popular culture beyond Europe. There are children’s books, a horror film, and Krampus events across the U.S., from San Antonio to Des Moines. In Portland, about 150 people and fans gathered for the fifteenth annual Krampuslauf parade. At a glance it can look like carolers, but a closer look reveals horns, bloody doll parts and homemade birch switches — though no children are actually harmed. Some participants even hand out candy from sacks instead of stuffing misbehaving kids into them.
The Portland parade was started by Arun Joseph Ragan, who has organized it for more than 15 years. Ragan says he never felt much connection to the merry, bright side of the season and prefers to lean into winter’s darkness. For him Krampus offers a lesson: invite the spirit of winter to your party so it doesn’t sneak up on you unnoticed. As the early sunsets arrive, embracing the darkness — and having a little fun scaring a few people — can feel right.
