John Mays is a pretty normal guy, for most of the year. His IT job keeps him busy, he volunteers for charity when he can, and he does some special effects, makeup and prop work for indie films on the side.
But in the weeks leading up to Christmas, the kind-hearted man undergoes a devilish transformation.
Mays — or “Krampus of Northern Colorado” as his alter-ego’s Facebook page calls him — stalks the streets of downtown Fort Collins every weekend in a fuzzy, handmade and horned Krampus suit.
As the mythos of what Mays calls “Santa’s first elf” tells us, Krampus follows St. Nicholas around on the fifth of December, Krampusnacht, rewarding well-behaved children with gifts and thwacking the bad ones with birch rods.
Mays’ Krampus, however, uses his powers for good.
“I saw it as a fun way to get donations for Toys for Tots,” he says. “Instead of being a heavyset guy in a red suit taking pictures with kids, I can be a bit of a monster, but also doing good things.”
Mays has always been a Halloween guy at heart. He created professional-grade werewolf suits for haunted houses in his hometown of Dallas, but that creative outlet disappeared when he moved to Colorado in 2010, so he struck out on his own.
“There didn’t seem to be anyone else doing something along these lines,” Mays says, “so let’s try to be unique and put more of a ‘what if’ spin on things.”
Mays isn’t directly affiliated with Toys for Tots, but he has permission to collect donations using their logo. His Krampus patrols the street, flying the group's banner fashioned to a heavy wooden staff with a long chain securing a metal donation box, promising to take whoever donates off the naughty list.
“It's just generally having a good time, putting a smile on people's faces,” Mays says. “They see Santa Claus everywhere. They see people dressed up as elves. They don't see a guy that's seven foot two with horns.”
Christmas counterculture
Running into a wandering Krampus in Colorado might be jump-scare worthy, but the goat-like beast is a yuletide norm in the legend’s homeland of Germany and Austria.
In Bavarian alpine country, Krampus carries just as much clout as the big man himself — in part because the legend predates Santa Claus and Christianity. Krampus’ true origin story varies from region to region, but the monster’s roots are grounded in pagan winter solstice traditions. When Christianity emerged on the scene, and St. Nick’s rosy cheeks and altruistic nature captured people’s hearts, the two legends became intertwined.
Traditionally, Krampus appears on Dec. 5, the night before the Feast of St. Nicholas, carrying birch switches to punish bad children and sacks to carry away especially unruly ones — a far cry from finding a lump of coal in a stocking Christmas morning.
“The people of the alpine region will expose their little kids to this creature from birth,” says Devin Arloski, Longmont resident and author of a Krampus children’s book series. Arloski first came across the impish creature on a trip to Germany in 2018, and was fascinated by the survival of these pagan traditions in a Christianized society.
Back in the states, though, Krampus isn’t always welcome with open arms. “Here in America, Krampus is trying to gain traction, but being met with a lot more negativity, a lot more conservative views,” Arloski says.
Mays has his share of interactions with the pious. “I have had people that are extremely rigid in a religious faith,” he says, “and call out for me across the street ‘I will pray for you!’”
But in both Mays’ and Arloski’s experience, Krampus is more of a holiday counterculture figure than anything. “Here, we’re just taking a look at it from afar,” Arloski says. “And we’re taking what we want from it.”
Krampus offers relief from the constant drone of Mariah Carey, dense crowds and long lines to sit on Santa’s lap each December. “We’re adding a bit of uniqueness,” Mays says, “a bit of a break in the Christmas monotonous routine that you’ve got accustomed to over the years.”
Here comes Krampus
There’s a small but devout community of Krampus enthusiasts on the Front Range who appear at events, like Denver’s Christkindl Market and Loveland Aleworks’ Krampusnacht each year. While these local Krampus festivities pale in comparison to their European cousins - Krampuslauf in Graz, Austria attracts hundreds of Krampuses each season - there’s a growing interest in this hairy miscreant’s lore.
Krampus is creeping his way into the mainstream, whether the Christmas traditionalists like it or not. The Christmas demon has made several appearances on the silver screen, perhaps most notably in the black comedy Krampus (2015), and Red One, an action comedy released this year starring Dwayne Johnson, where Krampus is portrayed as Santa’s estranged, adopted brother.
Krampus festivals are gaining traction all over the country, too, from Boise, Idaho’s Krampus Con to Krampus NOLAuf in New Orleans. But the tradition has been a slow uptake in Colorado, largely because of the time and cost investment, says Kate Geesaman, an Englewood local who helps organize Krampus appearances through a Facebook community group.
“It’s not cheap to be a Krampus,” she says., “We jokingly say that Krampus works for perogies, because we don’t even get paid to be at the German Market. It’s kind of a labor of love to be a Krampus.”
Costumes can cost thousands of dollars. Authentic masks made in Austria and Germany start at €500, according to Arloski, but quality helps to feed an intoxicating Krampus experience. “If you have a bunch of people going through town with plastic masks, I'm not sure that'll do it," he says. "It's got to look real.”
Despite the cost, the army of Krampuses who march through the Christkindl Market on Krampusnacht has grown to as many as 30, Geesaman says. “It’s become so popular, our group has tripled since the pandemic, and we have a lot more kids and teenagers now that we didn’t have before.”
“I definitely see it growing, because it seems like a perfect marriage,” Arloski says, “America is obsessed with violence.”
Krampus is in the eye of the beholder
Each Krampus costume in the Denver Krampusnacht parade is unique to its creator. While there is a general likeness with horns and fur, the monster’s image is in the eyes of the beholder.
“We don’t do anything too bloody, because Krampus isn’t really about blood,” Geesaman says. “But other than that, they can go wild with whatever kind of costume they want.”
Mays likens his rendition to “the world’s biggest teddy bear,” while the Krampus in Arloski’s novel The Christmas Curse of Krampus is more of a “badass villain.” Geesaman is even stepping outside the confines of Krampus itself as she works on her Franperchta costume — a Baba Yagaesque winter goddess from alpine Bavarian regions.
Whether Krampus is collecting donations or warning naughty children of their fate, the folks inside the costumes just want to entertain.
“The common interest here is to be a fun thing during one of the most stressful holidays of the year,” Mays says. “There’s no other motivation.”
Mays hopes that by being out on the street each weekend collecting donations will help people realize that Krampus isn’t all that bad.
“I’m hoping that other people will pick up the same strange little bug that I have for being this fuzzy suit guy and trying to have a positive impact on kids.”