Anti-Clause
The softly falling snow seemed to cover the world in a downy white blanket. It should have been a peaceful and calm setting. But it wasn't.
"So, what did you say this creature likes again?" Dean asked as he eased the Impala through a snow drift.
"Well, remember how we'd talked about the anti-Clause a couple of years back?" Sam looked sheepishly at his older brother.
"Yeaaa?" Dean questioned slowly.
"Well, I think it's really him this time. Missing scarves, socks, cocoa. Coal left everywhere. It's got to be him."
"This time, just don't call Bobby. Not until we're sure."
"We might not have a choice, Dean. This thing moves awfully fast, he's pretty evil for something associated with Christmas. He must like this town because of all the corruption that has taken place here recently. That and lots of violence."
Sam flipped through their dad's journal but couldn't find anything about any type of Christmas spirits, same as the last time they had encountered a denizen of the Christmas season, the awful Carrigan gods who liked to chow down on humans.
"We checkin' into a hotel soon?" Sam asked, looking up from the journal. "I need some better internet access, the snow must be messin' with my wireless connection."
"Yeah, there's one a few miles up ahead. The roads are getting shitty so I want to pull in for a bit, get my 'snow-legs'. Not to mention that this anti-Clause, or whatever the hell it is, hasn't been easy to track down."
Sam grinned, "He never is."
A few hours later the sleek, black Impala sat in a hotel parking lot, soft, wet, white piles of snow collecting on its frame. Through the iced over window covered in lights and red-green garland the shape of two men could be seen. One sprawled across the mattress as it gently vibrated; the other settled at a desk with a laptop open.
"Well, it's pretty much how I remembered it, Dean; the evil assistant of Saint Nicholas, Black Peter, who deals with the punitive side of Christmas. He's the one who would give out coal to those who did bad things, punished them physically with blows to the head or body, and would drag souls to hell with him."
"Be bad and Black Peter will beat the shit out of you and carry you body and soul to hell? Merry Friggin' Christmas!" Dean mumbled, his eyes closed and a smile of pleasure on his face as the "Magic Fingers" of the bed did the trick, easing the hunter's tense muscles.
Sam just rolled his eyes in exasperation, shaking his head. He could never understand how Dean could be so cavalier about such things.
"Are you even listening? This thing is bad bad. From the bowels of hell, bad."
"So's Lucifer. Not worried about some wimpy anti-Santa."
"Dean, it's not "The Grinch" we're talking about here. This thing supposedly was subdued by St. Nicholas to a certain extent but continues to "birch" adults and children, meaning, beats them, sometimes to death, with a birch branch!"
"Has anyone died yet?" Dean raised his eyebrows and opened one eye a crack in the direction of his younger brother.
"Well, no, but it's only a matter of time. So far it's just actual coal showing up, items missing, and a few rather bruised children and adults." Sam's voice rose as each act he listed escalated in violence.
"Right, so, he's working his way to the whole 'drag me to hell' bit."
"Doesn't mean we should let him get to that point."
"Yeah, I know. But it's not like we have any idea where this 'Black Peter' would hide. These anti-Clause types sure are sneaky bastards." Dean sat up as he'd run out of quarters to feed the "Magic Fingers" bed.
"Better watch it. The anti-Clause is also known as Krampus, an incubus or succubus type of demon. I'd stop with the vibrating bed if I were you."
"Nah, it might lead him to us, save us from having to do the whole "hunting" portion of this trip." Dean grinned widely and headed into the bathroom.
"Where're you going?" Sam slid the laptop from the desk into his hands and headed for the unoccupied bed of the room.
"To powder my nose, Samantha. What's it look like I'm doing?" Dean gestured to his arms, which held clean clothes.
"Fine. Just don't use all the hot water, diva Dean."
"I'm NOT a diva," hollered Dean over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut.
"Sure you aren't," chuckled Sam, once again settled in front of his laptop screen to view the disturbing images of Krampus, Black Peter, the anti-Clause himself. Sometimes the demon creature looked mostly human and almost like Santa, luring the kids with sweets and a smiling face with a white beard, but most times he was depicted in a manner befitting the devil himself, with cloven hooves, a goatish face, forked tail and tongue, and hefty horns framing his face.
"You are one fugly dude, and Dean would agree with me on this."
Sam clicked on a few more links, trying to discover a way to track the anti-Clause.
