The house was still, the fire dead,
The boy slept, smirking in his bed.
He’d lied and stolen, kicked the tree,
A damned good days depravity.

With horns and smoke, the Krampus came,
His eyes like coals, his breath a flame.
No jingling bells, no sleigh in sight,
Just cloven steps soft in the night.

The door swung wide without a sound,
As hooves scraped softly on the ground.
A chain was dragged, a shadow passed.
The air grew still, the cold held fast.

No scream was heard, no noise at all.
No sign of struggle, fight or fall.
He left no gift, no sight, no sound.
Just hoofprints scorched into the ground.