"I just don't understand it," Santa Claus huffed, frustrated. The parchment list trailing around the tails of his holly-red coat and across the living room floor was long indeed, though not quite as long as the second list he held in his other hand.
"I tell you, Poinsettia, I'm concerned. This year's list is twenty-five names and almost six inches shorter than last year's!"
"Oh I'm sure it's nothing you need worry about," his wife soothed. "After all, children do grow out of their belief."
"But that's just it!" Santa Claus insisted. "Every year more and more children grow older and stop believing in me, and with every passing year they stop believing at a younger age."
"That isn't your fault, Dear," Mrs. Claus said gently, bringing a plate of gingerbread men and a mug of steaming hot cocoa with her into the living room.
"No, but that's not what really has me worried. Look at this, Poinsettia."
Obligingly, Poinsettia accepted the two reams of parchment, comparing the elegantly written ciphers at the bottom.
"Goodness!" she exclaimed, her tiny silver spectacles nearly slipping off her nose. "Oh Nicholas! This is terrible!"
Her husband nodded gravely. "It looks awful in black and white, doesn't it? There has been almost a fifteen percent increase in Naughty children over the last ten years. I haven't seen a spike this bad since the middle of the last decade. However, these figures were calculated just a few days before Christmas, during the height of the Good Behavior surge."
Mrs. Claus looked aghast, her rosebud lips parted in horror. "Nicholas this is terrible! Whatever can we do?"
"I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure," Santa Claus shrugged. "Naughty children never get any presents, but these children don't seem to care if they get nothing for Christmas. It's been such a long time since I had to deal with children this Naughty."
"What about those three little hooligans who kidnapped you some years back?" Mrs. Claus asked. "Quite the naughtiest trio of children I ever laid eyes on."
"Yes, well, old Jack set them straight. For all the trouble they cause, those rapscallions are certainly in awe of…" An inspired gleam had rekindled the twinkle in Santa Claus's eyes. "…the Pumpkin King," he finished, voice dropped to a soft whisper.
"The Pumpkin King?" Mrs. Claus blinked. "What on earth could Jack Skellington have to do with this?"
Santa Claus did not answer right away; he was already hurrying up the wide, holly decked staircase towards the bedroom. Once inside, he flung open a huge and heavy chest at the foot of the bed and plunged head and hands inside it.
"Nicholas what are you doing?" his wife puffed in bewilderment, having chased her husband up the stairs.
"I haven't had to resort to this since the early half the nineteenth century," Santa Claus remarked to himself, throwing old cloaks, scarves, and mittens over his shoulder; the various articles of cold weather gear falling helter-skelter across the polished floorboards.
"What are you looking for?" Mrs. Claus asked, breath caught, stooping to collect the stray bits of wool and flannel from the floor.
"This!" Santa Claus shouted triumphantly. Standing, he held a battered old black woolen cloak high above his head. Patches and pockets crowded of body of the cloak both inside and out. The hood, huge and ragged, had deer antlers protruding from its crown and the back tapered to a pointed tip that ended in a ragged tassel. Mrs. Claus blinked.
"Nicholas, isn't that your old Bellsnickle outfit?" she asked, puzzled.
"Not quite my dear," Santa Claus replied, voice muffled somewhat by further rummaging in the trunk. "Try a bit earlier, say Middle Ages or so."
Mrs. Claus gasped, the sound a mix of awe and disbelief. "Not Krampus , surely?"
"Yes, Krampus," Santa Claus confirmed with a nod. With only a slight grunt, he stood and closed the trunk lid, a brown and black lump of ragged clothing in his arms. "There's no way in the world I'll be able to squeeze into these old rags again, but by gingerbread, I need someone to inspire a little respect or soon I won't have any children left to give presents!"
"Nicholas are you sure?" Mrs. Claus pressed.
"Poinsettia, if I don't take action now, there will be twice as many Naughty children on my list next year. I don't want that to happen. Jack is just the man for the job. Besides, he's always wanted to have a more active role in this holiday and this will be the perfect opportunity."
"Well," sighed Mrs. Claus, "I suppose it can't hurt. I just hope he doesn't get carried away again."
"Don't worry, Snowflake," Santa Claus assured his wife with a wink and a kiss on her rosy red nose, "I'll be right there to see he doesn't get into too much trouble."