I loved him as Joulupukki, the Finnish old man of winter. Or Sinterklaas, which in the US the Dutch settlers got in the 1600s from the Finns who brought Joulupukki to the mid-Atlantic colonies. Joulupukki, “yule goat,” is a reference to the ancient pre-Christian horned, or more accurately antlered gods. In Finno Ugrian culture, those would be tribal shamans whose seasonal duties included challenging people to face and admit the Dark, and confront it on her/his own. Instead of plastering over it with hysterical consumption and glare, then having various psychological-stress-related breakdowns.

I was raised in those traditions and was taught that Joulupukki took away bad children. But this was told in dark, Onion type humor. It didn’t scare me. Clowns, now those scared me. And people who were mean to animals. I always loved the story more than the totally saccharine Madison Avenue version of the winter lord. Who was pretty damn scary himself, if you ever got plopped in the lap of one of those phony department store Santas who reeked of bad teeth and Brylcreem and Polident and booze.

There are wonderful Krampus fests in today’s Europe. Even darker. Which is good, because people who repress the dark get far scarier than any of these images.