The Dead of Winter: Beware the Krampus and Other Wicked Christmas Creatures

‘If you’re used to a twinkly eyed Santa beaming kindly at little boys and girls at this time of year, perhaps the only thing more disturbing than having huge monsters attack you is watching them pick off children in the crowd.’

‘It’s the formless unfamiliar, the shadow that lives below the shadow, the one we sense but have not named or cannot yet name, there’s where the real terror lives. And so we name our monsters.’

As the nights grow longer and frost creeps across windowpanes, many of us turn our thoughts to twinkling lights, warm hearths, and the cozy comforts of the holiday season. But lurking in the shadows of our Christmas cheer are darker, older traditions - remnants of a time when midwinter was as much about survival as celebration. In her captivating new book "The Dead of Winter," historian Sarah Clegg peels back the cheerful wrapping paper of modern Christmas to reveal the delightfully creepy creatures and customs hiding underneath.

Clegg takes readers on a whirlwind tour of Europe's weirdest winter traditions, introducing us to a cast of characters that would make Tim Burton proud. We meet Krampus, the horned devil who punishes naughty children in Austria; the Mari Lwyd, a ghostly horse skull that goes door-to-door in Wales; and Perchta, a witch who disembowels the lazy and stuffs them with straw. It's like a twisted advent calendar, with each chapter revealing a new horrifying delight.

What sets "The Dead of Winter" apart from your average collection of spooky stories is Clegg's academic rigor. She's not content to simply recount these tales; she digs deep into their origins, tracing their evolution through centuries of cultural shifts and religious changes. Her background as an Oxford-trained historian shines through in her meticulous research and thoughtful analysis.

One of the book's strengths is how Clegg structures her exploration around the calendar of winter celebrations. We follow the thread of these dark traditions from early December through to Epiphany, seeing how they intertwine with and sometimes clash against more familiar Christmas customs. This approach gives the book a natural momentum, pulling the reader along like a sled through the snow.

A recurring theme in "The Dead of Winter" is the way pre-Christian beliefs and practices survived, often by disguising themselves in the trappings of newer religions. Clegg expertly unpacks how ancient midwinter festivals morphed into Christmas traditions, and how figures like St. Nicholas acquired some decidedly un-saintly companions.

Throughout the book, Clegg explores the tension between darkness and light that lies at the heart of winter celebrations. She argues convincingly that our need for both the comforting glow of the hearth and the thrilling chill of ghost stories stems from this primal duality.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the book is Clegg's examination of how these traditions often served as a safety valve for societal tensions. The topsy-turvy world of the Lord of Misrule, where servants became masters for a day, allowed for a controlled release of resentments that might otherwise have boiled over.

Clegg's prose is a joy to read, striking a perfect balance between academic precision and narrative flair. Her descriptions of Krampus runs and Mari Lwyd processions are so vivid you can almost hear the jangling bells and clattering hooves. Here's a taste of her evocative writing:

"As the first of the monsters reach us, two of them seize a young boy standing across from me. He tries to duck away, laughing, but the Krampuses each grab one of his arms, looming over him. They raise their switches and bring them down on his legs before releasing him, pushing him back into the crowd."

Despite the often grim subject matter, Clegg maintains a light touch throughout, peppering her text with wry observations and the occasional joke. This humor helps keep the book from becoming too heavy, reminding us that many of these traditions were as much about fun as they were about fear.

What truly sets "The Dead of Winter" apart is Clegg's decision to experience many of these traditions firsthand. She attends Krampus runs in Austria, joins wassailing celebrations in Wales, and even attempts a Year Walk in Sweden. These personal anecdotes bring an immediacy to the historical material, helping readers connect with customs that might otherwise feel distant or abstract.

Through her experiences, Clegg demonstrates how these traditions continue to hold power even in our modern, skeptical age. Her descriptions of the genuine fear and exhilaration she felt during these events are some of the book's most compelling passages.

"The Dead of Winter" is a triumph of popular history writing. Clegg has crafted a book that is simultaneously informative, entertaining, and surprisingly moving. By exploring the darker side of our winter celebrations, she paradoxically reveals the warmth and humanity at their core.

Whether you're a history buff, a folklore enthusiast, or simply someone who likes their eggnog with a dash of the macabre, "The Dead of Winter" deserves a place on your bookshelf. It's the perfect read for those long winter nights when the wind howls outside and the shadows seem to dance in the firelight.

So go ahead, let a little darkness into your holiday season. After all, as Clegg so deftly demonstrates, it's been there all along.

In uncovering these forgotten traditions, Clegg doesn't seek to diminish the joy of modern Christmas. Instead, she invites us to embrace a richer, more complex understanding of the season. By acknowledging the darkness, we can more fully appreciate the light.

As you hang your stockings and trim your tree this year, spare a thought for Krampus, Perchta, and all the other delightfully terrifying creatures that have haunted our winters for centuries. They're a reminder that sometimes, the best way to chase away the darkness is to dance with it.