config.style.page.color: "white on green-9"
config.style.page.link.font: "underline"
config.style.page.link.color: "yellow-3"
config.style.page.link.lineColor: "yellow-3"
config.style.page.link.active.color: 'red'
config.style.page.link.active.lineColor: "red"
playtesters: 'Ashley Baccam and Pam Murphy'
--
[align center]
{embed image: 'TKC-thumbnail.jpg', alt: 'The Krampus Case'}
[[Begin game->Rules]]\
[[Switch to light mode->Light title page]]\
[[Credits]]
[continue]config.style.page.header.font: "16"
config.style.page.header.link.font: "small caps"
config.style.page.footer.font: "16"
config.style.page.footer.link.font: "small caps"
config.body.transition.name: "none"
config.style.page.style: "none"
config.style.page.verticalAlign: 'top'
--
[align center]
**ABOUT THIS GAME**
[align left]
*Someone (Krampus) has kidnapped Santa Claus, and it’s up to you to find him before Christmas is ruined!*
Like an Advent calendar, there are 25 “doors” in this piece of interactive fiction. But *unlike* an Advent calendar, each door you open represents a new day of your investigation.
At least one door in each section (“People to Interview,” “Holiday Locations,” etc.) contains a **CLUE**. There are a total of six clues, and the order you find them in doesn’t matter.
**BE WARNED!** Although there are 25 doors, in this story there are only 20 days ’til Christmas, so there’s a chance you might not solve the mystery in time.
Choose wisely, Detective!
[align center]
[[Begin your adventure->Introduction]]config.style.page.color: "black on red-1"
config.style.page.link.font: "underline"
config.style.page.link.color: "green"
config.style.page.link.lineColor: "green"
config.style.page.link.active.color: 'orange'
config.style.page.link.active.lineColor: "orange"
--
[align center]
{embed image: 'TKC-thumbnail.jpg', alt: 'The Krampus Case'}
[[Begin game->Rules]]\
[[Switch to dark mode->Title page]]\
[[Credits]]
[continue][align center]
**THE KRAMPUS CASE**
written by Kirk Damato\
constructed by Sarah Willson
playtested by {playtesters}
thumbnail font is [[Bonsai by 3IP Type Foundry->https://www.3ipfonts.com/Bonsai]]
[[“Tió de Nadal” by Toniher->https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cagatio.jpg]] is licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.
gratitudes to the Finish It! Discord community, Matt and Chris Yule, and of course, Krampus
{back link, label: 'back'}
currentday: 1
currentdate: 5
config.header.center: "_The Krampus Case_"
config.footer.left: ""
cluesfound: 0
hint: false
eightball: false
cluelocations: ['Toy Workshop', 'Library', 'North Pole Gazette', 'The North Wind', 'Skiing Mountain', 'Hot Springs', 'Christmas Tree', 'end']
seymour: false
fairy: false
ghostwaiting: false
visited1: false
visited2: false
visited3: false
visited4: false
visited5: false
visited6: false
visited7: false
visited8: false
visited9: false
visited10: false
visited11: false
visited12: false
visited13: false
visited14: false
visited15: false
visited16: false
visited17: false
visited18: false
visited19: false
visited20: false
visited21: false
visited22: false
visited23: false
visited24: false
visited25: false
visitedpast: false
visitedpresent: false
usualdrink: "plain old black coffee"
flavor: "salted caramel"
base: "coffee"
topping: "whipped cream"
puborder: "water"
--
You are a detective, and a darn good one, if you do say so yourself. You’ve solved mysteries that have baffled some of the world’s greatest sleuths, including a few of the *supernatural* variety. Still, you dream about cracking a case that will finally earn the world’s respect and admiration — which makes it all the more exciting when you receive an urgent phone call on a late night in early December.
“Help!” squeaks a voice. “Santa Claus has been kidnapped!”
You almost fall out of your chair in disbelief. Santa Claus! He’s one of the most famous people in the world — if not *the* most famous.
You glance at the calendar. “Was it Krampus?” you ask, but you already know the answer. Tonight is December 5, better known as *Krampusnacht* — the night when the Yuletide demon unleashes his reign of terror upon the world. Only this time… he’s gone too far.
“Yes,” says the Elf on the other line. “How did you know?”
“That’s my job,” you reply. And for a moment, you consider turning down the case. After all, you’ve never really been a fan of Christmas, or of Santa. But then again, solving a case like this would *definitely* put your name on the map!
“All right,” you say at last. “I’ll do it. Where are you located?”
[[To the North Pole!->Main Menu]]
config.footer.left: "{embed passage: 'Menu'}"
nextclue: cluelocations.at(0)
--
It is now **Day {currentday} (December {currentdate})**.
[if passage.visits == 1]
Brr! It’s cold as you circle your biplane around the North Pole. Before you land, you take a good look at the surrounding area, and determine your best course of action.
There are a number of options here to begin your investigation, including:
[continue]
[if currentdate > 22]
Christmas is almost here — you'd better hurry up and crack this case!
[continue]
[if passage.visits != 1 && cluesfound != 6]
There are a number of options here to continue your investigation, including:
[continue]
[if cluesfound == 6 && visited6]
You think you have enough clues now to [[conclude your investigation]], or you could visit one of the following places:
[continue]
[if cluesfound == 6 && !visited6]
You think you have enough clues now to conclude your investigation, but you still feel like you’re missing something important. Surely you’ll find it in one of the following places:
[continue]
<h2>PEOPLE TO INTERVIEW</h2>
{embed passage: '1 Mrs. Claus'}
{embed passage: '2 Frosty the Snowman'}
{embed passage: '3 The North Wind'}
{embed passage: '4 The Sugar Plum Fairy'}
{embed passage: '5 Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'}
<h2>HOLIDAY LOCATIONS</h2>
{embed passage: '6 Christmas Tree'}
{embed passage: '7 Polar Express Train Station'}
{embed passage: '8 North Pole Post Office'}
{embed passage: '9 Toy Workshop'}
{embed passage: '10 Reindeer Stables'}
<h2>WINTER LOCATIONS</h2>
{embed passage: '11 Aurora Borealis'}
{embed passage: '12 Frozen Lake'}
{embed passage: '13 Skating Pond'}
{embed passage: '14 Tree Farm'}
{embed passage: '15 Skiing Mountain'}
<h2>PLACES TO EAT/DRINK/RELAX</h2>
{embed passage: '16 Hot Springs'}
{embed passage: '17 Coffee Shop'}
{embed passage: '18 Pub'}
{embed passage: '19 Bakery'}
{embed passage: '20 Movie Theater'}
<h2>PLACES TO DO RESEARCH</h2>
{embed passage: '21 Library'}
{embed passage: '22 North Pole Gazette'}
{embed passage: '23 The Fortune-Telling Machine'}
{embed passage: '24 Cemetery'}
{embed passage: '25 You can always shake your Magic 8 Ball and see what comes up.'}
{embed passage: 'remove tree'}
{embed passage: 'remove hints'}[if !visited1]
1 [[Mrs. Claus]]
[else]
1 Mrs. Claus [visited]
[continue][if !visited2]
2 [[Frosty the Snowman]]
[else]
2 Frosty the Snowman [visited]
[continue][if !visited21]
21 [[Library]]
[else]
21 Library [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Library" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Library" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited22]
22 [[North Pole Gazette]]
[else]
22 North Pole Gazette [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "North Pole Gazette" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "North Pole Gazette" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited23]
23 [[The Fortune-Telling Machine]]
[else]
23 The Fortune-Telling Machine [visited]
[continue][if !visited24]
24 [[Cemetery]]
[else]
24 Cemetery [visited]
[continue][if !visited25]
25 [[You can always shake your Magic 8 Ball and see what comes up.]]
[else]
25 You can always shake your Magic 8 Ball and see what comes up. [visited]
[continue][if !visited16]
16 [[Hot Springs]]
[else]
16 Hot Springs [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Hot Springs" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Hot Springs" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited17]
17 [[Coffee Shop]]
[else]
17 Coffee Shop [visited]
[continue][if !visited18]
18 [[Pub]]
[else]
18 Pub [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Pub" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Pub" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited19]
19 [[Bakery]]
[else]
19 Bakery [visited]
[continue][if !visited20]
20 [[Movie Theater]]
[else]
20 Movie Theater [visited]
[continue][if !visited11]
11 [[Aurora Borealis]]
[else]
11 Aurora Borealis [visited]
[continue][if !visited12]
12 [[Frozen Lake]]
[else]
12 Frozen Lake [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Frozen Lake" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Frozen Lake" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited13]
13 [[Skating Pond]]
[else]
13 Skating Pond [visited]
[continue][if !visited14]
14 [[Tree Farm]]
[else]
14 Tree Farm [visited]
[continue][if !visited15]
15 [[Skiing Mountain]]
[else]
15 Skiing Mountain [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Skiing Mountain" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Skiing Mountain" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited8]
8 [[North Pole Post Office]]
[else]
8 North Pole Post Office [visited]
[continue][if !visited10]
10 [[Reindeer Stables]]
[else]
10 Reindeer Stables [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Reindeer Stables" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Reindeer Stables" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited9]
9 [[Toy Workshop]]
[else]
9 Toy Workshop [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Toy Workshop" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Toy Workshop" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited6 && !visited21]
6 Christmas Tree [not yet open]
[continue]
[if !visited6 && visited21 && tree]
6 [[Christmas Tree]] [now open! 🎄]
[continue]
[if !visited6 && visited21 && !tree]
6 [[Christmas Tree]]
[continue]
[if visited6]
6 Christmas Tree [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Christmas Tree" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Christmas Tree" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited7]
7 [[Polar Express Train Station]]
[else]
7 Polar Express Train Station [visited]
[continue][if !visited3]
3 [[The North Wind]]
[else]
3 The North Wind [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "The North Wind" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "The North Wind" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue][if !visited4]
4 [[The Sugar Plum Fairy]]
[else]
4 The Sugar Plum Fairy [visited]
[continue][if !visited5]
5 [[Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer]]
[else]
5 Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer [visited]
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" && eightball; append]
🎱
[continue]
[if nextclue == "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" && hint; append]
🔮
[continue]currentday: currentday + 1
currentdate: currentdate + 1
--
visited1: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
“Thank you for coming, dear,” says Mrs. Claus. She sets down a tray of coffee and Christmas cookies, and sits opposite you. But within moments, she’s back on her feet and pacing the living room of the Claus’ cottage.
“That’s my job,” you say, nibbling a cookie. “Now, what happened, exactly?”
“Twas the night before Sixthmas,” she begins, “and it’s always so busy this time of year. Santa — that’s my husband — always comes home around midnight.”
While she speaks, you discreetly observe her behavior. Mrs. Claus keeps glancing out the window, starting at every creaky floorboard, even testing her landline to make sure it’s working. Nothing suspicious, given the stressful circumstances.
“Then from out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,” she continues, “that I sprang to the window to see what was the matter. And there *he* was, stuffing my Santa into his sack.”
It’s a grisly image, but you press on as gently as you can. “I hate to ask, ma’am, but are you sure it was Krampus? Not, like, the Abominable Snowman or Bigfoot?”
“No, those two love my husband — as do all creatures, great and small.”
You don’t contradict the kindly woman, but you know she’s wrong. After all, you yourself have no love for the big man… not after that fateful Christmas many years ago. But you’re not here to dwell on Christmases past. Clearing your head of unhappy memories, you force yourself to focus on the case at hand.
“OK, but why would Krampus kidnap Santa?”
She sighs. “It’s a rather long story.”
“I’ve got time,” you say, reaching for another cookie.
Mrs. Claus speaks as if reciting a Christmas catechism. “It is inevitable they would fight. One represents the darkness of winter; the other the light. Krampus feasts on the wickedness in our hearts; while Santa rewards the good that it starts.”
“And yet,” you think to yourself, “no good deed ever goes unpunished.”
You have a testimony and a theory… but no solid clues. You sigh. No one ever said detective work was easy.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited2: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
You’re not sure if Frosty’s magic lets him move more quickly over snow-covered ground or what, but that sucker is *fast*. It takes you most of the day crossing several hills of snow before you finally catch up to him.
“So… why all the running?” you gasp, holding the stitch in your side.
“Gotta run and have some fun,” he says, and gives you a jolly wink. “Besides, I don’t respect the law.”
“Kinda suspicious,” you say, “given the recent kidnapping.” You wish you sounded more intimidating, but you’re still out of breath.
“Sorry, Detective,” he says, and you *do* believe he means it, although it’s hard to read those two eyes made out of coal. “But I just came to life this morning. I don’t know anything about that.”
“All right,” you say, admitting defeat. You feel like the day is wasted, and start to go back to your inn… but then you turn back.
“There is *one* more thing,” you say, feeling like Columbo. “There’s something I’ve always wondered. Has anyone ever said you’re like the Ship of Theseus?”
“How so?” says Frosty.
“Well, every year you come back, right? But you’re made of different snow, eyes, buttons, et cetera. At what point do you become an entirely new Frosty?”
“Oh, I see what you mean!” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “It’s the hat.”
“Care to explain?”
Frosty smiles and breaks into his song. “There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found, for when they placed it on my head…”
“You came back to life,” you finish, flatly refusing to play (or sing) along.
“Exactly! My soul is stored in the hat.”
“That’s some strange magic,” you say. “Truth be told, I’m more of a detective than an expert in the occult.” You wonder aloud if this might tie into the Krampus case somehow.
“It doesn’t,” says Frosty. “Krampus doesn’t wear a hat.”
“Fair enough,” you admit. “But Santa does.”
“That’s just a hat,” says the snowman, with the self-assurance of a four-year-old who’s making up the rules to a game they created. “There’s no magic in it.”
You find yourself getting heated — never a good sign when you’re talking to a snowman. “So you’re telling me that you’re the *only* one in the North Pole who has a magical device, hat or otherwise, that both stores your soul *and* brings you back to life year after year after year?”
“Yeah, I guess,” says Frosty. “I dunno! I don’t ask people about their personal business.”
And with that, he hurries on his way.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}
visited3: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'The North Wind')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
[if visited12]
The talking fish said it would cover the sea, and you’ve been legging it on land. That only leaves one realm: the air. And who better to ask about that than the North Wind.
[continue]
You wonder what the North Wind will look like — whether it’ll be some kind of anthropomorphic cloud with billowing cheeks, or a personification of the weather, like a man with striking gray hair. Or maybe the North Wind will look like nothing, and will merely be a voice carried on the wind.
Turns out it’s a cloud.
[if visited11]
“Greetings, Detective,” says the North Wind. “I don’t normally make appearances to mortals, but Seymour said you’re cool, so I figured, eh, why not.”
[else]
“Greetings, Detective,” says the North Wind. “I don’t normally make appearances to mortals, but given the dire circumstances, I’ll make an exception.”
[continue]
“Thanks,” you say, bundling your coat tighter against you. The wind chill factor increased as soon as the North Wind began speaking. “I was hoping you’d be able to help me find Santa Claus.”
The North Wind sighs, causing you to shiver. “I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. Did you know...”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” you interrupt, “but can you use as few words as possible? Or maybe look the other way while talking?”
The North Wind chuckles, but to its credit, the cloud does turn its face away while doing so. “I forget my manners sometimes. Sorry about that. Is this better?”
“Immensely,” you say.
“Good. Now where was I? Ah, yes. Alas, Detective, even my powers are not infinite. My reach is limited to any way the wind blows — which is almost everywhere! *Almost.*
“But Krampus knows this. **All he has to do is hide Santa in a place the wind cannot reach, and I’d never be able to find him.** Which I suspect is what he’s done.”
[if visited15]
“That sounds like a cave,” you say. “And I investigated one on the mountain… but Santa wasn’t there.”
“Then he must be somewhere else.” The North Wind sighs again, and it sounds like a mournful gale. “I am sorry, Detective, that I can’t be of more help.”
[else]
The North Wind sighs again. It sounds like a mournful gale. “I’m sorry, Detective, that I can’t be more help.”
[continue]
“Not at all,” you say. “This was *very* helpful.” You thank the North Wind, feeling light and airy with this new **CLUE** added to your investigation.
{embed passage: 'plus one clue'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}
visited4: true
fairy: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
The Sugar Plum Fairy is happy to help. More than happy, in fact. Ecstatic.
“A visitor!” she exclaims, as you arrive at her fairy-sized home in the Candy District. She darts out her tiny door and hovers before you like a pink-hued hummingbird.
“And I know what you’re looking for…” she says excitedly. “A sugar plum!”
With a wave of her lavender wand, she magics forth a cascade of purple-hued candies to dance before you.
“No, thanks,” you start to say, but then decide that would be impolite. You pluck one from the air and bite down. It’s a lot harder than you imagined.
“I know,” she says, slightly apologetic. “They haven’t been popular in over a century… but that just means they’re due for a comeback, right?”
“Um, if you say so…” you begin. Once you’re able to swallow, you clear your throat and say, “Actually, I’m looking for help with the Krampus case.”
“Like a sidekick?” the Sugar Plum Fairy asks eagerly.
“No…” you say, “not exactly,” but her disappointed expression makes you quickly change your approach. “Well, I mean… maybe. Sure. You have magic powers, right? Couldn’t you do something to help find Santa or Krampus?”
“Sure! I’ll whip up some more sugar plums—”
You stop her before she finishes. “Something… useful,” you say, as nicely as you can.
She thinks. “Well… my magic is mostly sugar-plum-related. You know ‘visions of sugar plums danced in their heads’? That’s all me, baby!”
“Wait,” you say, “does that mean you can enter people’s dreams?”
“Oh, sure,” says the Sugar Plum Fairy, as if this is common knowledge. “Anyone with the Christmas spirit.”
OK, that rules out Krampus, but still… “Then you could visit Santa—”
“And let him dream of sugar plums!” finishes the Sugar Plum Fairy. “Oh, he’d love that!”
“No,” you say, “you could ask him where he is.”
“Oh, yeah,” says the Sugar Plum Fairy. “I normally let my sugar plums do the talking, but that’d be easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.”
She gives a merry salute with her wand. “You’ve got it, Detective!”
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited5: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
Rudolph is just finishing up a flight, and lands down on the airstrip where you’re waiting to question him. He’s a lot *bigger* than you expected… not that you have much experience with reindeer. But he’s muscular and stocky, like a Clydesdale horse, and the sight of him makes you believe that reindeer can not only fly, but carry a tank-sized sleigh full of presents.
He takes a long drink of Gatorade from a trough, then looks your way. His nose glows a faint red. “You the replacement?”
“No, I’m the detective,” you say, but then take note of what he just said. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘replacement’?”
“In case Santa doesn’t make it back by Christmas Eve,” the reindeer says. “We need a human to fill in for him. Drive the sleigh, deliver presents, all that.”
“So this has happened before?” you ask, surprised.
“Just a few times,” says Rudolph. “Let’s see, in the past century or so there’s been…” He counts off using the prongs of antlers: “The year Santa got the flu — that’s when we got some clown. Nice guy, but a real yutz. Then the time Santa had seasonal depression, we found an orphan off the street. Poor kid. He died in the war. Oh, and that year a curmudgeonly millionaire filled in because Santa threw his back out on Christmas Eve. That was a bad one.”
“But not as bad as a kidnapping,” you note.
“No,” he admits. “This year is pretty grim, not gonna lie. Me and the crew have been patrolling the sky, day *and* night, but no one’s spotted anything yet.”
[if visited3]
“Yeah,” you say. “I spoke to the North Wind, and it said Santa would have to be hidden somewhere that the wind can’t reach.”
Rudolph nods. “Makes sense. But still… we gotta do *something*.”
[continue]
“Well, let me know if you find anything.”
“Will do,” says Rudolph.
Then, changing the subject, you ask, “Any sign of Krampus?”
The reindeer snorts, causing his nose to pulse red. “Nah. Krampus only has reign on *Krampusnacht* — that’s Krampus Night,” he adds, unnecessarily.
“I know what it means,” you say. “But does he have any friends here in the North Pole, any former associates?”
From the look Rudolph gives you, you quickly figure you’re barking up the wrong tree — or whatever the reindeer equivalent of that might be.
“Krampus is old-school,” he says. “Like, O.G., ancient, pagan Christmas. He’s before my time — before *anyone’s*, I think… except maybe Santa?
“If you want to learn more about Krampus, you’d have to ask…” He stops and thinks. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s anyone you *could* ask,” he finally says.
Which might be true, you think, but surely there’s gotta be knowledge out there *somewhere*.
“Sorry, Detective. But, hey, think about it if we end up needing a replacement Santa. You’d be good at it.”
This time, *you’re* the one who snorts at his suggestion. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Christmas isn’t really my thing.”
To your surprise, Rudolph chuckles. “That’s what the millionaire said. And hey, you never know. It always ends up being the person you least suspect.”
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited7: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
You make your way to the train station, where you see the train conductor posting a notice that says the Polar Express will not be making any more departures until further notice.
“So, what’s going on?” you ask the conductor.
{embed image: 'conductor-polar-express.gif', alt: '“This is the Polar Express.”'}
“Umm.... yeah, I know that,” you say. “Where was it supposed to depart to?”
{embed image: 'conductor-north-pole.gif', alt: '“Why, to the North Pole, of course!”'}
There’s something about the conductor that makes you uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the flat light behind his eyes, or his monotone voice, or the way his face never really changes expression.
“But, I mean, it goes *somewhere* when it leaves the North Pole, right?” (*Like the Uncanny Valley, maybe?* you think, but don’t say.)
The conductor leans in closer, causing you to take an involuntary step back.
{embed image: 'conductor-one-thing-trains.gif', alt: '“One thing about trains: It doesn’t matter where they’re going. What matters is deciding to get on.”'}
His joyless wink makes you feel all kinds of bad inside — so much so that you're not even bothered by his nonsensical words.
“What?!" you sputter. "That makes no sense!”
{embed image: 'conductor-exactly.gif', alt: '“Exactly!”'}
He points his finger in your face, causing you to take another step backward. It's oddly proportioned to the rest of his body. You feel like you're trapped in a Christmas nightmare.
{embed image: 'conductor-you-coming.gif', alt: '“Well? You coming?”'}
“What?! Where?! You just said the train isn’t leaving until further notice."
{embed image: 'conductor-north-pole.gif', alt: '“Why, to the North Pole, of course!”'}
"We're already here! And no, absolutely not — I'm not going anywhere with you!" You’ve decided you had enough of this creepy conductor. Wherever Krampus might be hiding, it isn't here.
The last thing you hear is the conductor call after you, in a voice devoid of emotion, let alone merriment or Christmas cheer or concern for Santa's predicament:
{embed image: 'conductor-merry-christmas.gif', alt: '“Merry Christmas!”'}
The way he shouts it, it sounds like a threat more than anything else.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited8: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
You’re surprised to find the North Pole Post Office is busy as ever. As you watch, a polar bear pulls in a toboggan holding sacks full of letters.
A squirrel wearing a postal uniform waves her tail at you. “You there!”
“Me?” you ask, but she scampers over to you without waiting for an answer.
“You’re the detective, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Good!” she chatters. “Come with me, come with me.”
Before you can protest, you’re led to the back of the post office, where dozens of postal workers sort through an endless sea of envelopes.
“Is this about the Krampus case?” you ask, but she titters a negative response.
“No, but it’s something you’d be good at, I hope. As a detective, I assume you have a keen sense of right and wrong?”
“I guess so, but…”
“No buts!” she squeaks. “Look, with Santa missing, his List has gone unfinished! And we can’t process all these letters until we know who’s Naughty or Nice.”
She jumps on your shoulder, gently pushing you down into an Elf-sized chair. “We’re hoping you can help to sort through some of the most tricky cases.”
“I don’t have time for this,” you protest. You start to get up, but everyone stops what they’re doing to look at you. The words “Naughty List” get muttered by more than a few of them — and you don’t like how it’s connected to your name.
Cowed, you sit back down. “What do I do?”
“Just look through these special case files,” says the squirrel, “and stamp them appropriately. We’ll take care of the rest.”
[[Begin sorting through the files]]visited9: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Toy Workshop')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
The first thing you notice about the toy workshop is that it’s loaded with presents. Lots and lots of presents. Too many presents! All neatly organized and stacked by size. There are literally hundreds of them! As you read through the tags on each gift (noting with familiar disappointment that none bear your name), an Elf drags over a toboggan loaded with even more.
“Kind of a backlog, huh?” you say.
“Tell me about it,” says the Elf. She nods her head toward a blank wall, empty save for some kind of wooden hook.
You’re not sure what it is, so you give the hook an experimental tug. The wall doesn’t swivel open to reveal any secret rooms or anything. It’s just a regular hook on a regular wall.
“OK, I give up,” you finally admit. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s not what you see that counts,” says the Elf, “but what you *don’t* see.”
You take a step back and examine the wall some more. Clearly, something is usually hung here. Something missing. Something important. And then you get it.
“Santa’s bag!”
“Yuuuup,” says the Elf. She introduces herself as Elfenezabeth. “And without his magic bag…”
“You’ve got nowhere to store all these presents,” you finish. “Hence the backlog.”
**“So Santa’s bag is missing, too,” you say. “Stolen by Krampus, no doubt. But why?”**
Elfenezabeth gives a sigh. “Who knows with that guy? But I’ll tell you what’s weird — you know *The Wizard of Oz*?”
“Not personally, no.”
“Well, in the movie, the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda have the exact same dress. It’s the same pattern, just cut from different cloths. The same is true of Krampus and Santa’s magic bags.”
“So one is good and one is evil?”
“We prefer the terms naughty and nice,” says Elfenezabeth, “but it’s the same principle.”
[if visited1]
You know from visiting Mrs Claus that Santa was stuffed into a sack. It must have been this one. It’s a very interesting **CLUE**... but what does it mean?
[else]
Hmm. A very interesting **CLUE**... but what does it mean?
[continue]
{embed passage: 'plus one clue'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited10: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Reindeer Stables')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
As you approach the reindeer stables, a shaggy brown dog comes bounding out, barking furiously.
“Whoa!” you say, holding out your hand. “I come in peace!”
The dog stops short. “Sorry,” she says. “We’re all on edge here.”
You hold out your hand, expecting a handshake, but instead she gives it a slobbery lick.
“I just thought you might be Krampus since I didn’t smell the Christmas spirit on you,” says the dog.
“Well, I’m not feeling very festive,” you admit, a bit more defensively than you’d like. “After all, I’m in the middle of a case.”
“Ah, you must be the detective! The name’s Max. I’m a dog.”
“Nice to meet you.” This time she *does* shake your hand. “Did you notice anything unusual around here on the night of the kidnapping?”
“Nope. If Krampus came by the stables, I’d have smelled him right away. Sorry, Detective.” Sensing your frustration, she adds, “But if it’ll make you feel any better, you can throw this ball for a bit, and I’ll catch it for you.”
Surprisingly, it does.
“So what’s your deal?” you ask, after tossing the ball for the seventeenth time.
“I’m a dog,” says Max. She scoops up the ball and runs it back to you.
“I know, but what’s your story?”
Her jaw drops open in shock. The ball falls to the ground, momentarily forgotten. “You don’t know the story of Max, the honorary reindeer?”
You rack your memories for any Christmas songs or specials, but nothing comes to mind. “Uh, sorry. Never heard of you.”
“Oh, it’s not *me*,” she says. “That was the original Max — my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. You know… *the Grink’s* dog?”
[if visited24]
“Oh, yeah,” you say, thinking about that monument in the cemetery. “What the heck is a Grink?”
[else]
“What the heck is a Grink?”
[continue]
“Oh, the Grink *hated* Christmas!” she says, the hackles of her fur standing on edge. “The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask me why — no one quite remembers that part.”
Max begins to tell a long story. You feign interest until one notable detail causes you to sit upright and interrupt.
[if !visited15]
“Wait— did you just say he lived in a cave? Here, at the North Pole? Where, exactly?”
“I have no idea,” says Max, her tail wagging. She nudges the ball toward you. “That was a really long time ago, even by human years, and I’m just a dog. Woof woof!”
[continue]
[if visited15 && !visited16]
“Wait, I’ve been to the Grink’s cave!” you say excitedly. “It’s on the dark side of the mountain. And Krampus was there at one point, too! He built some kind of birch fire, but I can’t figure out why.”
“Hmm,” says Max. “Maybe it was a purification ritual. Or an *impurification* ritual.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I have no idea,” she says, her tail wagging. She nudges the ball toward you. “I’m just a dog. Woof woof!”
[continue]
[if visited15 && visited16]
“I’ve been to the Grink’s cave!” you say excitedly. “It’s hidden on the other side of the mountain. And Krampus was there at some point, too! He built a fire out of the *vihta* branches he stole, but I can’t figure out why.”
“Hmm,” says Max. “Maybe it was a purification ritual. Or an *impurification* ritual.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I have no idea,” she says, her tail wagging. She nudges the ball toward you. “I’m just a dog. Woof woof!”
[continue]
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited6: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Christmas Tree')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
Like a grand and miraculous spaceship, the Christmas tree stands as a beacon over all, filling the North Pole with the rich scent of evergreen life. Its boughs are laden with ornaments from Christmases past: paper roses, sweetmeats, wafers, apples, tinsel, candles (seems like a bad idea), glass baubles, candy canes, gingerbread men, the Coca-Cola polar bear, oranges, lace — easily a thousand such decorations, one for each year since Santa was first hatched from his Christmas egg. At night, its multi-colored lights sparkle with a gentle intensity that staves off the cruel winter darkness.
Krampus would absolutely hate it.
A crowd has gathered to view the newly unveiled tree, and you stand shoulder to shoulder with all manner of Elves, reindeer, and miscellaneous holiday folk to bask in its glory.
“O Tannenbaum,” you mutter under your breath. “How lovely are thy branches.”
“Actually,” comes a voice at your elbow, “*Tannenbaum* means ‘fir tree.’ The proper German word for Christmas tree is *Weihnachtsbaum*.”
You look down, and instantly recognize that red cap and jocular smile from the book in the library. It’s Caga Tió, the Christmas log!
“Caga Tió!” you say. “I was just thinking about you!”
“All good things, I hope,” says the log. He smiles at you hopefully. “Were you thinking about offering me something to eat? I’m awfully hungry.”
“Absolutely,” you say, grinning. “I’ll just buy some roasted chestnuts and be right back.”
“*Gràcies*,” says Caga Tió, which you know is Catalan for “thank you.”
When you return, chestnuts in hand, he gobbles them all down at once — bag and all!
“So, do you always ask people for food? Is that your thing?” you ask.
“Usually I don’t have to ask. Folks around here have the good sense to offer a spare treat. Day-old bread, cold oatmeal, big cartoon-sized ham bones, gingerbread cookies, I’ll eat anything that people give me! Big or small, I’ll eat them all.”
“How about coins? Do you eat coins?”
“What?!” The log looks at you incredulously. “Why would I do that— unless they’re chocolate coins, I guess. I only eat food, my friend.” He speaks patiently, as if explaining this to a child.
“But you just ate all the chestnut shells. And the bag!”
“Eh, I’m not *that* picky!” says Caga Tió.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited11: true
seymour: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
On day {currentday} of your investigation you come across something suspicious: an Elf in the midst of sneaking out the window of one of the Elf-sized cottages found throughout the North Pole.
He notices you're watching him just as he’s about to set foot on the ground, and you make eye contact for an uncomfortable moment.
“Detective!” he says. “I was just, uh… stretching my calves on the windowsill.”
You say nothing.
“Isometric exercise,” the Elf adds. “Care to join me?” He stretches with a little more exaggeration, as if there’s nothing unusual about an Elf standing half in/half out of a window.
You try to peek in through the window, but his body is blocking the way. However, you do notice something. “Why is there smoke coming out of your oven?” you ask.
“Uh…” the Elf looks back and jumps in alarm. “Oh, that isn’t smoke,” he says. “It’s steam.”
Again, you say nothing. Sometimes silence is the best tool to goad someone into a confession.
“Steam from the steamed clams we’re having. Mmm!” He smiles and rubs his stomach. “Steamed clams.” He gives you a forced smile, even though he’s visibly sweating.
You stare, stone-faced, blocking his path until he finally retreats back in through the window and quickly draws the curtains before you can see what’s inside.
However, you’re not deterred so easily. You march to the front door of the cottage and knock — but to your surprise, the Elf-sized door swings open.
You crouch over the low threshold and step in, just in time to see the Elf emerge from the kitchen with a silver platter laden with French fries and hamburgers.
The Elf stares at you like a deer caught in the headlights — or perhaps, given the time of year, it’d be more appropriate to say a reindeer.
“I thought you were having steamed clams,” you say.
“Oh, no,” says the Elf, a little too quickly. “I said steamed *hams*. That’s what we call hamburgers.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You call hamburgers ‘steamed hams’?”
“Yes. It’s a… regional dialect.”
“Uh-huh,” you say. Your detective sense is going off the charts right about now. “What region?”
“The North Pole.”
“I see…” You don’t, though. Not at all. You eye one of the hamburgers critically. “You know,” you say, “these hamburgers are quite similar to the ones they have at the Burger Haus.” It’s a restaurant chain you’ve eaten at twice already during your stay here. In fact, there’s one just behind this cottage.
“Oh, no,” says the Elf. You notice he’s repeating himself. “Patented Elf burgers. Old family recipe.”
You decide to play along. “For steamed hams.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.” Before the Elf can react, you take a burger and pull off the top bun. Something isn’t right. “And you call them ‘steamed’ hams despite the fact that they are obviously grilled.” You show the Elf the patty, which has conspicuous sear marks running across its surface.
The Elf is noticeably sweating now. “Yes. You know, the...” he stammers. “One thing I should... excuse me for one second.” He backs away into the kitchen, trying to close the door quickly behind him, but you notice it: something is glowing in there.
[if visitedpast]
(“Does *everything* glow in the North Pole?” you think wildly — but it’s more than the twinkling of the Ghost of Christmas Past, it appears to be a downright inferno.)
[else]
(“Does *everything* glow in the North Pole?” you think wildly — but it’s more than the twinkling of a Christmas light, it appears to be a downright inferno.)
[continue]
“Good Lord!” you exclaim. “What is happening in *there*?” You point to the kitchen.
The Elf doesn’t even look back. “Aurora borealis,” he says.
“Aurora borealis?!” You’ve had enough of his lies, from the isometric exercise (when he was clearly performing calisthenics) to the so-called “steamed” hams. “At this time of year?” you ask incredulously. “At this time of day? In this part of the world, localized *entirely* within your kitchen?”
Another trickle of sweat falls down the Elf’s brow. “Yes,” he says.
“May I see it?” you ask.
“Oh! Of course,” says the Elf. He opens the kitchen door to give you a better view.
You peer inside, and you witness the aurora borealis in all its glory, blazing with a multitude of fantastical colors that are beyond the mortal scope of the world. It flashes and swirls throughout the Elf’s kitchen. Tears spring to your eyes. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited12: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Frozen Lake')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
“Now *this* I can get used to,” you say to yourself, settling into the camping chair a little more snugly. You’ve got everything you need: a fishing pole, a saw, a thermos full of hot chocolate, and your detective’s notebook.
But best of all, there’s no one else around. It’s just you on the lake, where you can sit and think in solitude.
This whole Krampus case has got you bothered. No, you realize, it’s not the case, it’s the whole North Pole. But even then, you admit it’s not fair to blame the town, or the people who live here year-round to bring Christmas to (most of) the world. It’s just the holiday season itself that gets to you, and this place keeps relentlessly shoving it in your face.
You’d think the whole kidnapping thing would put a damper on the festivities, and while it has (to a degree), for every worried face you encounter, there are at least two more folks full of holiday cheer in spite of the dire circumstances. They’re resilient, at least.
And while ruminating on all this… you get a bite!
Your fishing pole twitches and bends, interrupting your thoughts, and you don’t even have time to think. Instinctively, you grab at the pole, reeling and waiting, until finally you bring your catch up to the surface.
Sitting on the blunt hook is a fish smoking a cigar (you’ve never understood how that’s possible). Sputtering, the fish says, “All right, already, whaddaya want? I’m freezin’ up here!”
You try to hide your smile. “Good to see you too, Mack. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.” Despite his nature, you and the surly salmon go way back. He’s been your go-to informant for happenings in the underwater criminal underworld ever since the Case of the Missing Marlin.
“Look, pal,” he says, blowing a smoke ring that instantly turns to frost, “I know what you’re gonna ask, and no, Santy Claus ain’t down here sleepin’ with no fishes.”
“Yeah, I figured.” You offer the thermos to Mack, and he knocks back a slug of hot chocolate. “That doesn’t seem Krampus’ style. But what’s the scuttlebutt down there?”
“Too much scuttle, not enough butt. But hey, at least between the two of us, we got the land and sea covered. That just leaves the, whatchamacallit. That thing?” He points a fin in the direction of the sky.
[if !visited3]
“The air?” You cast a glance upwards.
“Yeah. Us fish don’t know much about that thing. You two-legs don’t, either, right? Got any bird friends that can help you in that department?”
“I know a few stool pigeons,” you admit, “but they’ve all flown south for the winter. None of them could get here before Christmas.” But there *might* be someone else, you think. You’ll have to check your notebook.
“Too bad.” Mack drains the rest of the thermos, then tosses it back to you. “Welp, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta see a man about a seahorse.”
And with that, Mack flops off the hook and back into the water, leaving you alone once again with your thoughts.
[else]
“The air. I *did* check with the North Wind. He said Santa must be in a place where the wind can’t reach…”
“Like under the sea,” says Mack, finishing your thought… and finishing the rest of the hot chocolate from the thermos. “Yeah, that adds up. Too bad it don’t. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta see a man about a seahorse.”
And with that, Mack flops off the hook and back into the water.
Despite the dead end, you feel a bit better. Mack’s got the exact opposite of the Christmas spirit, and yet, it’s just what you needed to make it through one more day.
[continue]
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited13: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
As you shiver on the shore of the frozen pond, you wonder why you came down here in the first place. You don’t even know how to ice skate — after all, it’s a silly, pointless skill that rarely comes up in your line of work.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you watch a group of Elves, animals, and other Christmas folk frolic on the ice. They link hands and paws — you think it’s a game called “crack the whip” — with an old-timey clown at the center. How is that even fun? Why are they laughing so much? Don’t they know Santa is missing? Don’t they even care?
Still, you’ve got a case to solve. Heaving a sigh, you put on a pair of rental skates and penguin-walk onto the ice, but barely make it a few feet before falling on your butt. Thankfully, nobody noticed. That’s one of the nice things about being a detective: a lot of your work is done in the background, and you’ve learned over the years how to avoid any unwanted attention.
You decide to question someone once they take a break from the ice, but everyone keeps skating long after your fingers have grown numb. You watch them glide and pirouette and do little jumps, as a deep pit of longing smolders in your soul.
You’ve never felt so lonely in your life than you do at that moment… which might be why the clown notices you, standing all alone, huddled in the snow. He skates over effortlessly, and gestures for you to join in.
You shake your head — you’re here on business, after all — but when the clown tilts his head with a quizzical “Why?” you shrug and look down at your skates, as if that explains everything.
The clown skates up to the edge of the pond and holds out a gloved hand. You hesitate for a moment, but then, figuring it’ll at least get this clown off your back, you take his hand.
Surprisingly, this time you don’t fall on the ice, and the clown lifts you into the air as easily as if you were a small child. He spins you around, and it feels like you’re flying! When the clown sets you down on the ice, he holds you gently by the arm so that this time your ankles stay steady. Amazed, you glide along, as easily as everyone else.
“Wow,” you say. This is really something!” Then, remembering why you’re here, you ask, “Do you know anything about Krampus kidnapping Santa Claus?”
“No, I don’t,” says the clown. “Sorry.”
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited14: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
You’re walking through the tree farm — endless rows of Christmas trees in various stages of growth — annoyed, sneezing, and fighting off your seasonal allergies, when a voice from behind causes you to jump.
“Hello there.”
You turn and find yourself facing a tree — but not just any tree, a *talking* tree. It doesn’t have a face, exactly, although the shadows and shading of the upper pine needles resemble eyes, and a knot in its trunk moves like a mouth.
It’s *very* weird. And yet, it might just be the best person (or thing?) to answer your arboreal questions.
“My name is Douglas Fir,” says the tree.
“Oh,” you say, as politely as you can. “What an interesting name!”
“Why, yes, it *is* interesting, because I’m actually a Fraser fir. Do you know the difference between—”
[if visited21]
“I do,” you say, cutting him off with a sneeze. “But what I want to know is… what’s so special about *birch* trees?”
“*All* trees are special,” says Douglas Fir.
You really have to fight the urge to argue with him about that one, but you let it go.
“Right, fine, I know, but I mean, what do birch trees have to do with Krampus? They seem to be connected.”
[else]
“I do,” you say, cutting him off with a sneeze. “But what I want to know is… what can you tell me about Krampus?”
“Ah, Krampus,” says Douglas Fir, and it seems like his mood darkens a bit. It’s hard to tell. “The trees are no fan of his, considering he likes to hit people with birch branches.”
“Why? What’s so special about birch trees?”
“All trees are special,” says the tree.
You really have to fight the urge to argue with him about that one, but you let it go.
“Right, fine, I know, but I mean, what do birch trees have to do with Krampus?”
[continue]
“Well, that’s a rather interesting question,” says the tree. “Why don’t you pull up a stump and I’ll tell you all about it?”
“Actually,” you say, glancing at your watch, “why don’t we play a game where you tell me about it… in one minute or less. Sound fun?”
“Verily!” says the tree. “Wait, has my time started yet?”
“No,” you say. You massage your temples, hoping to stave off the inevitable headache. [[“It starts… now.”]]
visited15: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Skiing Mountain')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
[if visited10 && !visited3]
Max said something about an old abandoned Grink cave — but in order to find the cave, first you’ve got to go to the mountain.
As you ride up the ski lift, you raise your binoculars and search for a place where Krampus might have stashed Santa.
[continue]
[if !visited10 && visited3]
The North Wind said it wouldn’t be able to find Santa if he were hidden in a place where the wind couldn’t reach… and you think a cave might fit that description. But in order to find a cave, first you’ve got to go to the mountain.
As you ride up the ski lift, you raise your binoculars and search for a place where Krampus might have stashed Santa.
[continue]
[if visited10 && visited3]
Max said something about an old abandoned Grink cave… and now that you think of it, the North Wind wouldn’t be able to penetrate a cave. You decide to test your theory by visiting the mountain.
As you ride up the ski lift, you raise your binoculars and search for a place where Krampus might have stashed Santa.
[continue]
[if !visited10 && !visited3]
As you ride up the ski lift, you raise your binoculars and search the mountain for a place where Krampus might have stashed Santa. A cave, perhaps?
[continue]
Alas, the mountainside is smooth with powder-white snow. You reach the top of the ski lift and sadly hop off. You’re much too disappointed (and professional) to go “Wheee!” as you ski downhill.
You skid to a halt by the ski lift. “Another round?” asks the lift operator, but you shake your head.
“I’m looking for a cave,” you complain, “but I couldn’t find any.”
“Not on this side,” says the lift operator. “But the other? Hoo, mama! It’s rocky and craggy and has one dilly of a cave. But no one ever goes there,” he adds.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” you say.
The operator wasn’t lying — the other side of the mountain is as different from the skiing side as Krampus is from Santa. It takes several hours of hiking and searching (after all, you’re a detective, not a mountaineer) before you finally spot the cave: half hidden from prying eyes behind a tangle of moss and dead branches. And yet… the branches are broken and some of the moss lies on the ground. Someone’s been here recently!
You click on your flashlight and enter, stepping eagerly but carefully. “Santa?” you call, but the only answer is your echo. Inside it smells dank and vaguely like goat, but as you descend into the cave, that Krampus-like odor is slowly overpowered by the pleasantly aromatic smell… of woodsmoke?!
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire — but there is no fire in this dark cave. However, your flashlight picks up **the remains of a fire… a pile of young branches. Birch branches, if you’re not mistaken.** That pleasant scent comes from their budding green leaves.
[if visited16]
Well, now you know what Krampus did with the *vihta* branches: he burned them here, where no one would see the fire. But why? It’s a strange **CLUE**, one that creates more questions than answers.
Still, as you spend the rest of the day on the bunny slopes, you can’t help but feel a growing anxiety over the fact that Christmas is getting closer… and there’s still no sign of Santa.
[else]
But why would Krampus come here just to light a fire? You search through the ashes, but there’s nothing else. It’s a strange **CLUE**, but a clue nonetheless.
Still, as you spend the rest of the day on the bunny slopes, you can’t help but feel a growing anxiety over the fact that Christmas is getting closer… and there’s still no sign of Santa.
[continue]
{embed passage: 'plus one clue'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited16: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Hot Springs')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
[if visited23]
“Search someplace warmer,” the Great Calveri said. Not a lot of warm places in the North Pole… other than these hot springs. You’re surprised to learn the whole town is powered by steam generated from the springs.
[else]
Considering the fact that you’re in the North Pole, you find it surprising that there’s a hot spring here. It turns out the whole town is powered by steam generated from the springs.
[continue]
You’re further surprised by the “CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” sign in front of the entrance. You see a few of the attendants doing various chores — sweeping the pathways, checking windows, poking around in the bushes.
You approach one and ask why they’re closed.
The Elf attendant looks a bit stressed as she says, “Krampus came here on Krampusnacht.”
“Is this where he kidnapped Santa Claus?” you ask, but the attendant shakes her head.
“No, we close at sunset. We don’t know what he was doing here, but we thought it’d be best to keep it closed until we do a thorough search of the area to make sure he didn’t leave any tricks or traps.”
“That’s a good idea,” you say. “Mind if I help?”
You spend the rest of the day thoroughly investigating the springs — and it’s not just a natural spring, with pools outside, but also a lavish spa. There are heated baths, steam rooms, massage rooms, mud rooms, salt rooms, anything you could wish for. And they all have to be checked and tested to make sure Krampus hasn’t sabotaged anything.
As you’re doing inventory in one of the supply rooms, you notice one of the cupboards is ajar. Inside it’s empty, with only a pleasant aroma left behind.
“What’s normally kept in here?” you ask an attendant.
**“Our *vihta*! They’re gone!”**
“Wait, *vihta*? What is that?”
The Elf explains. “They’re young birch branches. We use them in massage. They help with circulation and exfoliation.”
“By hitting your customers?” you ask. “Like Krampus?”
“Not at all!” says the attendant. He’s almost insulted. “This is a nice, stimulating experience. We don’t beat the naughtiness out of people, like Krampus does.”
“But Krampus uses birch sticks, too,” you can’t help but notice. “Why would he steal these? Did he need extras?”
“I don’t see why he would,” says the Elf. “These are young and filled with leaves. Krampus uses old dead sticks for his switch.” The Elf rushes out to his office, and returns with a *vihta*. “See? I keep this one in my office in case of emergencies.” And the Elf is right: comparing one of Krampus’s switches to this sprightly *vihta* is like comparing naughty to nice.
[if visited15]
“Then why did Krampus steal them— just to burn them in the old cave?” you wonder out loud. “Unless… he didn’t want anyone to have access to them? But why? Why?”
Even though you’re left with more questions than answers, at least you’ve found another **CLUE**.
[else]
“Then why did Krampus steal them?” you wonder out loud. “Unless… he didn’t want anyone to have access to them? But why? Why?”
Even though you’re left with more questions than answers, at least you’ve found a **CLUE**.
[continue]
{embed passage: 'plus one clue'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}
visited17: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
Some days you just need a bit of caffeine… and today is one of those days. Like any true detective, you usually drink {cycling link for: 'usualdrink', choices: ['plain old black coffee', 'tea (Earl Grey, hot)', 'energy drinks']}… but apparently that’s not on the menu here at Jingle Bell Java, the North Pole’s one and only coffee shop.
Instead, after some deliberation, you decide on a {cycling link for: 'flavor', choices: ['salted caramel', 'gingerbread', 'mocha & sea salt']} {cycling link for: 'base', choices: ['coffee', 'milk tea', 'hot chocolate']}.
“Any toppings?” asks the reindeer barista. “You get one free.”
“Ummmm, sure,” you say, looking at the menu again. “Maybe some {cycling link for: 'topping', choices: ['whipped cream', 'marshmallows', 'boba']}.”
He taps your order into the computer with one hoof. “OK, coming right up. Name?”
You give your name, and settle into a comfy padded chair. It’s a nice shop, with the vibes of a Victorian study, complete with a roaring fireplace in the corner. A bookcase full of well-worn books and board games lines one wall. The aromas of freshly ground coffee beans, brewing tea, and hot chocolate mix and mingle into one delicious aroma. And that, basically, is the Jingle Bell Java.
[[Wait for your drink]]visited18: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Pub')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
They say the pub is the heart of England, and you wonder if the same is true here at the North Pole.
Either way, you’re glad to step out of the freezing cold and into the warm, wood-paneled interior of the Partridge & Pear, the North Pole’s only pub.
And what a pub it is! They serve all manner of non-alcoholic drinks, including freshly churned egg nog, a drink called Dew and another called Doo, and 23 varieties of root beer on draft (you’re quite intrigued by the Holiday Butterscotch) — not to mention a menu of hearty meals that’ll keep you warm through the long arctic winter.
And yet, the atmosphere within is quite somber — unsurprising, given the state of things. You settle into a quiet spot at the edge of the bar, the better to observe the patrons… and possibly overhear a clue or two.
Speaking of which, a few Elves nearby are talking shop. Apparently there’s uncertainty at the Toy Workshop, what with Santa missing. They can’t decide if they should continue building toys, or pause and wait for his return. It sounds like they’re going to do the former, but before you can eavesdrop more, the barmaid crosses her arms and gives you a stare.
You’d better order something!
[[Order some egg nog]]\
[[Order a Dew]]\
[[Order a Doo]]\
[[Order a root beer]]visited19: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
A sign in front of the bakery reads:
[align center]
**CLOSED FOR THE SEASON**
[align left]
“That’s odd,” you think to yourself, and give a professional-sounding knock on the door.
After a moment, an Elf wearing a chef’s hat and apron comes out. He looks up at you and says (rather tersely, you might add), “Can’t you read? The sign says we’re closed.”
“I’m not here to buy anything,” you say, even though you were kind of planning to. “I’m investigating the Krampus case.”
The Elf scowls. “Well, when you catch him, I hope you give him a punch in the nose for me!”
You instinctively peer behind the Elf and into the bakery. Other than the conspicuous lack of customers and the even more conspicuous lack of baked goods, it looks totally normal. There are even a few other bakers — a gingerbread man, a penguin, another Elf — inside doing various chores.
“Why?” you ask. “What happened here?”
“Krampus stole our sugar!” The Elf is practically shaking with fury. “All of it! White sugar, brown sugar, confectioners’ sugar, every last granule!”
“Huh,” you say, noting it in your notebook. “That’s pretty bad, I guess.”
“You ‘guess’ that’s ‘bad’?!” he shrieks. “No sugar means no cookies! No gingerbread! No stollen, panettone, pfeffernüsse, or Yule logs! I can’t bake anything without sugar!”
“What about pretzels?” you ask. You’re no baker, but you’re pretty sure they don’t have any sugar in them. Just salt. “You could always bake pretzels.”
“What did you just say?” whispers the Elf, a dangerous fire blazing in his eyes.
“Or bread,” you add. “Bread doesn’t need sugar.”
“Oh, that’s it,” spits the Elf. He picks up a rolling pin and stomps toward you. The penguin squawks in alarm, then waddles forward to quickly restrain him.
“Get outta here!” shouts the Elf. He throws the rolling pin at you, and it hits you in the shin. There will be a nasty bruise there later. “Get the H-E-double hockey sticks outta my bakery with that ‘bread’ talk!”
“What did I say?!” you ask, genuinely dumbfounded, but the aproned gingerbread man just shakes his head and quickly ushers you out of the bakery.
“Forget it, Detective,” he says. “It’s Christmas Town.”
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited20: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
You look at the marquee of the North Pole Cinemaplex. Unsurprisingly, it’s screening a number of holiday movies. *Elf*, *It’s a Wonderful Life*, *Die Hard*, *Batman Returns*, *Gremlins*, *A Christmas Story*, *Miracle on 34th Street*, and… *Shrek*?!
“I dunno,” says the ticket-taker when you ask about that last film. “Santa just really likes *Shrek*, I guess.”
“That’s one thing we have in common,” you think to yourself, and come up with a reason for buying a ticket — but really you just want to see *Shrek* on the big screen.
“Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess…” begins a familiar Scottish voice. “But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort, which could only be broken by love’s first kiss.” You find yourself entranced as the storybook on the screen depicts the sad tale of Princess Fiona.
“She was locked away in a castle, guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon. Many brave knights had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed. She waited in the dragon’s keep, in the highest room of the tallest tower, for her true love… and true love’s first kiss.”
The voice of Shrek chuckles to himself. “Like that’s ever gonna happen!”
“SomeBODY once told me…” sings Smash Mouth, and you find yourself spontaneously cheering. “Yeeeeeah!” you shout through a mouthful of popcorn, as Shrek bursts out of the outhouse and onto the screen. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
The audience, which is filled with Elves, reindeer, and a few polar bears, cheer and sing along to “All Star” — and your moviegoing experience only gets better from there.
The next 90 minutes go by like a wonderful dream, and you almost cry when it’s over… or should you say *ogre*? As you exit the Cinemaplex, you, like most of the audience, get right back in line to buy a ticket for the next showing.
By the end of the day, you didn’t find any clues, but hey, at least you got to see *Shrek*… four times in a row!
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited21: true
tree: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'Library')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
Slam! You drop your pile of old books onto one of the library’s tables, and the noise causes many an angry look and quite a few shushes from the nearby readers. You sheepishly whisper an apology — while trying not to sneeze from all the dust wafting up from your books.
At first you were disappointed that there was no sign of Santa within the North Pole Public Library, but instead you’ve found a veritable treasure trove of knowledge concerning all things Christmas… including several tomes about Krampus. Time to exercise that most important of detective skills: research!
**O Krampus, that Alpine demon who snatches away the naughty in his sack, punishes the wicked by beating them with an old birch switch, or, worse still, eating them alive.** It’s dark reading, and you’re sure you’re going to pay for this **CLUE** by having nightmares tonight, but these books mostly pose questions about Krampus, while providing frustratingly few answers. The whole thing reminds you of folklore and fairy tales — in that the deeper you look, the more disturbing their origins. Clearly Krampus symbolizes something that humanity might not be ready to confront, yet likes to keep around. The folklorists and philosophers can debate the details, but one thing is clear: Krampus is scary!
[if visited18]
After a while, you take a break, and, inspired by Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey, decide to learn about friendlier holiday figures from around the world — and are you glad you did! One such character not only catches your eye, but kind of blows your mind.
[else]
After a while, you decide to take a break, clear your head, and learn about friendlier holiday figures — and are you glad you did! One such character not only catches your eye, but kind of blows your mind.
[continue]
{embed image: 'tio.jpg', alt: 'Photograph of Tió de Nadal'}
Meet Tió de Nadal, AKA the Christmas Log — although many people also refer to him as Caga Tió, which means, well, the pooping log.
“What?!?!” you exclaim, too engrossed in your reading to notice the librarian’s disapproving glare.
Unlike the Christmas tree or Yule log, this fellow is sentient, and it’s a Catalan custom for children to keep him warm with a blanket and feed him treats in the days leading up to Christmas. Then, on Christmas Eve, they hit him with young birch branches while singing a song to encourage him to poop out some presents.
[if visited16]
(One of the books insists that he “rather enjoys” the beatings, and you wonder if it’s like getting hit with those *vihta* from the Hot Springs — like a vigorous massage that encourages digestion. Besides, as a log, he probably/hopefully isn’t hurt by this — although you wonder how he feels about getting hit with his non-sentient wooden brethren.)
[else]
(One of the books insists that he “rather enjoys” the beatings, and you wonder if it’s like getting hit with those branches in a sauna — like a vigorous massage that encourages digestion. Besides, as a log, he probably/hopefully isn’t hurt by this — although you wonder how he feels about getting hit with his non-sentient wooden brethren.)
[continue]
You wonder, briefly, what Caga Tió might symbolize, or why he exists, before shaking the thought from your head. Whatever it might be, you’re probably happier not knowing.
{embed passage: 'plus one clue'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited22: true
cluelocations: cluelocations.filter(f => f !== 'North Pole Gazette')
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
“Don’t you have any microfiche?” you ask the Elf as she guides you into the newspaper archives, but she just blinks at you.
“What kind of fish?” she asks, and you decide not to press it.
Looking around this dusty room full of yellowing newspapers, you realize you’ve got your work cut out for you. They certainly do things the old-fashioned way at the *Gazette*, and there’ll be no digital shortcuts to help with your research. This could take hours… maybe even days!
[if visited17]
With a warm {flavor} {base} in hand, you settle down at an empty desk and get down to business. You start with the most recent edition of the newspaper (the headline reads ~~YOUNG DETECTIVE VOWS TO FIND KIDNAPPED KLAUS~~) and work your way backwards.
[else]
You start with the most recent edition of the newspaper (the headline reads ~~YOUNG DETECTIVE VOWS TO FIND KIDNAPPED KLAUS~~) and work your way backwards.
[continue]
Ream after ream, issue after issue, you pore through countless articles for anything Krampus-related, or even slightly suspicious. Every now and then a mention of the Alpine demon pops up, but they’re either fear-mongering articles like ~~KRAMPUS: THREAT OR MENACE?~~ or puff pieces about the volunteer Krampus Patrol (“No sightings in over a decade!”).
It takes a hundred years (figuratively) before you find something noteworthy, in an article dated almost a century ago:
[align center]
**KRAMPUS KIDNAPPING ATTEMPT FOILED!** \
*Diabolical Demon Sent Howling*
[align left]
`NORTH POLE — Krampusnacht almost took a turn for the worse, as the diabolical demon KRAMPUS snuck his way into the North Pole late last night. His objective? To kidnap SANTA CLAUS!`
`But the ol’ goat was no match for our G.O.A.T. (That’s Greatest Of All Time, for any newcomers unfamiliar with the latest North Pole lingo.) And Krampus found himself hoisted on his own petard — or, to put it more clearly, foiled by his own magic sack.`
`“Ho ho oh no,” said Santa, when asked for details. “Krampus’ sack only has the power to capture Naughty folk! Fortunately I’m on the Nice list,” he added with a merry chuckle, “and it spit me right back out.”`
`And what happened next? Why, Santa quickly turned the tables and strong-armed his Naughty nemesis into his own ragged sack... and then neatly tied it up with a bow.`
`As for Krampus, shortly before being given the bum’s rush back to the Alps (an early Christmas present courtesy of the North Pole authorities), the horned one was heard to howl a vow of revenge: “I’ll feed you to the dogs for this, Santa, even if it takes me a hundred years!” You’ll pardon this reporter if he doesn’t hold his breath.`
Interesting.
So it turns out **this *isn’t* the first time Krampus has tried to kidnap Santa**. You’re not sure how it connects to the case at hand, but you add it to the **CLUES** section of your notebook, just in case.
{embed passage: 'plus one clue'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited23: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
[If currentday == 1]
The first thing you notice is an antique fortune-telling machine on the outskirts of North Pole Village — mostly because it creeps you out. Maybe that’s why you decide to visit it first, to get it out of the way.
This device is easily over a hundred years old (and where are you supposed to get a shilling to activate it?), and there’s nothing friendly or fun about it. The figure of the fortune teller (“The Great Calveri”) is carved from wood, with a silken cravat and velvet coat. Its eyes glow red. Indeed, there’s something devilish or diabolical about this fellow — and you see more than a passing resemblance to Krampus.
Suddenly, the Great Calveri springs to life. It tilts its head quizzically, eyes staring into yours, and a sign behind it lights up.
~~YOU HAVE QUESTIONS. THE GREAT CALVERI HAS ANSWERS.~~
“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel a bit self-conscious talking to this thing, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “I’m trying to find Santa and Krampus, but I don’t know where to start.”
There’s a *clack* from within the machine, and a calling card lands in a polished metal tray.
~~THIS WAS A FOOLISH PLACE TO BEGIN YOUR SEARCH~~, reads the card.
“I know that!” you say. “But what am I supposed to do?”
You turn over the card. That’s strange — you could’ve sworn there wasn’t anything written on the back a second ago.
~~SEARCH SOMEPLACE WARMER.~~
[else]
So far you’ve avoided the antique fortune-telling machine on the outskirts of North Pole Village — mostly because it creeps you out. But at last you decide you can’t put it off any longer, and decide to check it out.
The device is easily over a hundred years old (and where are you supposed to get a shilling to activate it?), and there’s nothing friendly or fun about it. The figure of the fortune teller (“The Great Calveri”) is carved from wood, with a silken cravat and velvet coat. Its eyes glow red. Indeed, there’s something devilish or diabolical about this fellow — and you see more than a passing resemblance to Krampus.
Suddenly, the Great Calveri springs to life. It tilts its head quizzically, eyes staring into yours, and a sign behind it lights up.
~~YOU HAVE QUESTIONS. THE GREAT CALVERI HAS ANSWERS.~~
“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel a bit self-conscious talking to this thing, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “I’m trying to find Santa and Krampus, but I haven’t had much luck.”
There’s a *clack* from within the machine, and a calling card lands in a polished metal tray.
~~YOUR SEARCH HAS GONE COLD, AND IS GETTING COLDER~~, reads the card.
“I know that!” you say. “But what am I supposed to do?”
You turn over the card. That’s strange — you could’ve sworn there wasn’t anything written on the back a second ago.
~~SEARCH SOMEPLACE WARMER.~~
[continue]
[If visited16]
“Like the Hot Springs?” you ask the automaton. “But I’ve already been there!”
A second sign lights up from behind Calveri.
~~CALVERI HAS SPOKEN.~~
“Augh,” you groan. “I just wish you’d help me find Santa!” The frustration of this investigation wells up, and you bang your head against the machine’s wooden frame. From within, a bell rings, and a second calling card falls into the tray.
Hand trembling, you pick it up and read:
🔮 ~~YOUR WISH IS GRANTED~~ 🔮
“Thank you, Calveri,” you whisper. You start to leave, but then you notice the machine was never plugged in. Shivering a little, you quickly make your exit.
{embed passage: 'fortune teller hint'}
[else]
“‘Search someplace warmer,’” you say to yourself. “Thank you, Calveri. That’s very helpful.”
You start to leave, but then you notice the machine was never plugged in. Shivering a little, you quickly make your exit.
[continue]
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited24: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
You’ve spent the better part of the day combing the cemetery, reading the various tombstones for any connections to the kidnapping. But, like your bank account, they all add up to nothing.
And, as often happens when you get stuck on a case, your mind wanders to your old {cycling link, choices: ['friend', 'rival', 'partner', 'enemy', 'lover']} Jenny. Would she have solved the mystery by now? Snaked the solution out of your grasp? Would she have noticed some vital clue that you missed?
That might be why you can picture her right now, leaning against a large stone monument for The Grink (whatever that is), smirking at you from beneath her unkempt curls.
“Come on, Detective,” she’d say teasingly. “Surely you’re smarter than Krampus.”
You look through your notebook, scowling. “I *am*,” you mutter to yourself. “But it’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“So get a magnet,” she’d say, which makes you roll your eyes.
“What am I supposed to do?” you’d retort. “Lure Santa out with some milk and cookies?”
“A metal detector, then,” she’d say, giving her trademark half-shrug. The memory of it causes your heart to ache.
Jenny used to quip that time heals all wounds, but it also wounds all heels — and in your case, that’s certainly true. Your heart has a Jenny-shaped hole in it, and you fear it’s a wound that might never fully close. You’re not even sure if you want it to.
“Means,” you say to yourself, trying to focus on the case at hand instead of ghosts from the past — because that’s all Jenny is, now. A ghost from the past. “Motive. Opportunity.”
And yet, an intrusive thought has to intrude. Jenny would butt in and say that a detective like you should stick to the basics: the Who, What, When, Where, and Why.
“Easy,” you’d say. You go through the list one by one. “Who? Santa Claus.
“What? Kidnapped by Krampus.
“When? The night of the 5th. *Krampusnacht*.
“Where? That’s what we’re trying to find out — what *I’m* trying to find out,” you correct yourself.
“Why?” And that’s where you’re stumped.
“I don’t know why,” you’d say. You’d look up, and she’d be there peering at you over her own notebook, staring at you with her unblinking eyes.
And then you could ask the question you’ve asked yourself countless times, a message in a bottle thrown out to an unforgiving sea. “Why, Jenny? Why {cycling link, choices: ['did you do it', 'did you leave', 'can’t I let you go']}?”
But there is no answer. There never is. Jenny is gone, and it’s just you — as it’s always been — alone in the cemetery.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visited25: true
eightball: true
--
{embed passage: 'start of day'}
[If currentday == 1]
You’re a great detective (did you say “good” detective earlier? Because you meant great), but even great detectives can get stuck sometimes. And you’ve come to the wise realization that you should consult your Magic 8 Ball *before* you get stuck.
[else]
You’re a great detective (did you say “good” detective earlier? Because you meant great), but even great detectives can get stuck sometimes. You hate to admit it, but you’re feeling stuck… and so you decide to consult your Magic 8 Ball.
[continue]
This relic has been in your family for generations, and it has the marvelous ability to answer any question you ask… *if* it wants to. You’re not sure *how* it works, or how your Great Uncle Stan first found it — honestly, you’ve never dared to investigate the Magic 8 Ball’s history, lest you risk breaking its enchantment.
“Ohhhh Magic 8 Ball,” you say in a hushed, reverent tone, beginning the incantation that awakens its powers. “I seek the being known as Santa Claus. Where should I look?”
Per the ritual, you then shake it not once, not twice, but thrice. The purplish waters (the color of magic) slosh within, and after a moment, an ivory icosahedron floats to the crystal surface, revealing the following message:
[align center]
**BE SURE TO DRINK YOUR OVALTINE**
[align left]
“Ovaltine?” you mutter to yourself in disbelief. “A crummy commercial?”
Great Uncle Stan always said the Magic 8 Ball had a weird sense of humor. You give it another shake, rush through the incantation, and this time it says:
[align center]
**BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW**
[align left]
“Not *now*?” you ask. “Then when, Magic 8 Ball? When???”
{embed passage: 'end of day'}cluesfound: cluesfound + 1
--{embed passage: 'plus one day'}
[if currentday == 5 && !fairy]
[[Later that evening...->Ghost of Christmas Past]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 5 && fairy]
{embed passage: 'ghost queue'}
[[The next day...->Sugar Plum Fairy epilogue]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 6 && ghostwaiting]
[[Later that evening...->Ghost of Christmas Past]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 6 && !ghostwaiting && fairy]
[[The next day...->Sugar Plum Fairy epilogue]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 6 && !ghostwaiting && !fairy]
[[The next day...->Main Menu]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 10 && !fairy]
[[Later that evening...->Ghost of Christmas Present]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 10 && fairy]
{embed passage: 'ghost queue'}
[[The next day...->Sugar Plum Fairy epilogue]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 11 && ghostwaiting]
[[Later that evening...->Ghost of Christmas Present]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 11 && !ghostwaiting && fairy]
[[The next day...->Sugar Plum Fairy epilogue]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 11 && !ghostwaiting && !fairy]
[[The next day...->Main Menu]]
[continue]
[if currentday != 5 && currentday != 6 && currentday != 10 && currentday != 11 && currentday != 21 && fairy]
[[The next day...->Sugar Plum Fairy epilogue]]
[continue]
[if currentday != 5 && currentday != 6 && currentday != 10 && currentday != 11 && currentday != 21 && !fairy]
[[The next day...->Main Menu]]
[continue]
[if currentday == 21]
[[Later that night...->out of time]]
<h2>DAY {currentday} (December {currentdate})</h2>
[if passage.name != "Aurora Borealis" && seymour]
{embed passage: 'Aurora Borealis epilogue'}
[continue]
h1 {
font-size: 2em;
}
h2 {
font-size: 1.5em;
}
h3 {
font-size: 1.25em;
}
[note]
to change text color:
<span style="color: #c41e3a">CLUE</span>hint: true
--visitedpast: true
ghostwaiting: false
--
[if currentday == 5]
On the fourth night of your investigation you are visited by the first of three spirits.
[else]
On the fifth night of your investigation you are visited by the first of three spirits.
[continue]
You find yourself gazing out your window at the night sky, bewitched by a twinkling light that drifts ever closer. It’s only when it reaches arm’s length that you realize it’s a person — one neither young nor old.
“What are you?” you say. “A Christmas Star?”
“In a way,” they reply with a gentle smile. “For I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
Interesting. A time-traveling ghost might help crack this case. “Which past?” you ask.
“Yours.”
“Not interested,” you say, closing the curtains on their ageless face. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m busy.”
“Although,” you say, immediately opening the curtains again, “since Santa was kidnapped three days ago, *in the past,* maybe you could help me find him.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” says the spirit. “But there are other, more important, things that I could help you with.”
Suddenly you’re no longer in your little room in a little inn at the North Pole, but back inside the bedroom of your childhood home. The smell of your youth, the feel of that particular rug on your feet, the sight of your old posters and books and toys, the hundreds of forgotten details are so overwhelming that it leaves you gasping.
“Do you know this place?” asks the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“Of course. I lived here!”
“And do you know why we’ve come to *this* particular Christmas Past?”
As if by magic, your bedroom door opens, revealing the hallway leading to the living room. “No,” you growl. Through sheer force of will, you *banish* away this illusion. Because that’s all it is: a shadow of the past. A trick of the spirit’s light.
And just like that, you’re back in the North Pole again.
“I don’t have time for this,” you say, closing the curtains yet again. “I have a mystery to solve,”
“Just the one?” asks the spirit, mildly, but when you reopen the curtains to give your retort, they are gone.
[[The next day...->Main Menu]]hint: false
eightball: false
--[if passage.name == 'Case Notes']
{back link, label: 'Back'}
[continue]
[if passage.name == 'Main Menu']
[[Case Notes]]
[continue][if cluesfound == 0]
You haven't collected any clues... yet!
[continue]
[if cluesfound != 0]
Clues collected so far:
[continue]
[if visited3]
* According to the **North Wind**, Krampus must have hidden Santa in a place the wind cannot reach, thus preventing the North Wind from finding him.
[continue]
[if visited9]
* Krampus stole Santa’s magical bag from the **Toy Workshop**. It’s very similar to Krampus’ own bag, only his is evil while Santa’s is good — or “naughty” and “nice,” to use the Elves’ nomenclature.
[continue]
[if visited16]
* Krampus stole (almost) all the *vihta* from the **Hot Springs**. These are young birch branches used in massage, and are the “nice” version to the “naughty” birch branches he uses to hit people.
[continue]
[if visited15 && !visited16]
* Krampus secretly burned a bundle of young birch branches inside the cave on **Skiing Mountain**.
[continue]
[if visited15 && visited16]
* Krampus secretly burned the *vihta* inside the cave on **Skiing Mountain**.
[continue]
[if visited21]
* At the **Library**, you researched Krampus, the Alpine demon who snatches away the naughty in his sack, punishes the wicked by beating them with an old birch switch, and sometimes eats them whole. You also learned about a log named Caga Tió who poops presents.
[continue]
[if visited22]
* An old ***North Pole Gazette*** article mentioned a kidnapping attempt by Krampus from one hundred years ago. The attempt failed because his evil sack can only capture naughty folk, while Santa is nice. Krampus vowed revenge after being tossed into his own sack by Santa.
[continue]
[if visited4]
* According to the **Sugar Plum Fairy**, Santa Claus is being kept in a place both dark and cramped. (This is not really a clue, but you wrote it down so the Sugar Plum Fairy could feel like she helped.)
[continue]Instead of feeling the usual rush of excitement about (hopefully) solving the mystery, you only feel a sense of dread. If your theories are correct, and you hope they aren’t… well, you don’t know what to make of them.
First things first: you stop by the Hot Springs to grab the last remaining *vihta* branch. The attendant is only happy to give it to you.
[if visited11]
The second part of your plan is much harder. It takes most of the day before you finally track down Caga Tió loitering beside a steamed hams stand.
“Good afternoon, friend,” he says at your approach. “Could you spare a treat for me? Perhaps a steamed ham?”
[else]
The second part of your plan is much harder. It takes most of the day before you finally track down Caga Tió loitering beside a hot chocolate stand.
“Good afternoon, friend,” he says at your approach. “Could you spare a treat for me? Perhaps a hot chocolate?”
[continue]
“Not this time,” you say, and because you can’t come up with a better way to approach this, you just straight-out ask him the question that’s been haunting you:
[[“Did you eat Santa?”]]fairy:false
--
That morning, the Sugar Plum Fairy is waiting to meet you outside the inn.
“Guess what,” she says, eyes sparkling. “I did it! I visited Santa Claus in his dreams. He *really* loved the dancing sugar plums—”
“Never mind that,” you interject, reaching for your notebook. “What did he say? Where is he?”
The little fairy is so excited she does a loop-de-loop in the air. “Someplace dark and cramped,” she says. “Cramped… like Krampus! That must be a clue, right?”
It… is not.
But still, you do your best to lie. “It sure is,” you say with your most convincing smile. “And what a clue! Thank you so much!”
“I helped!” she screams triumphantly. Her voice echoes as she flutters away, leaving a lavender shimmer in her wake: “I’M STILL RELEVANT!”
This, you think to yourself, is why you work alone.
[[Anyway...->Main Menu]]seymour: false
--
[if passage.name == "Mrs. Claus" || passage.name == "Frosty the Snowman" || passage.name == "The North Wind" || passage.name == "The Sugar Plum Fairy" || passage.name == "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"]
Seymour — that’s the Elf whose kitchen contains the Northern Lights — ends up being a pretty nice guy. Sure, he’s an odd fellow who sweats a *lot*, but you must admit he steams a good ham. Plus, he promises to connect you with one of his acquaintances, {passage.name}.
[continue]
[if passage.name == "Christmas Tree" || passage.name == "Polar Express Train Station" || passage.name == "North Pole Post Office" || passage.name == "Toy Workshop" || passage.name == "Reindeer Stables" || passage.name == "Frozen Lake" || passage.name == "Skating Pond" || passage.name == "Tree Farm" || passage.name == "Skiing Mountain" || passage.name == "Hot Springs" || passage.name == "Coffee Shop" || passage.name == "Pub" || passage.name == "Bakery" || passage.name == "Movie Theater" || passage.name == "North Pole Gazette" || passage.name == "Library" || passage.name == "Cemetery"]
Seymour — that’s the Elf whose kitchen contains the Northern Lights — ends up being a pretty nice guy. Sure, he’s an odd fellow who sweats a *lot*, but you must admit he steams a good ham. Plus, the next day he guides you to the {passage.name}.
[continue]
[if passage.name == "The Fortune-Telling Machine" || passage.name == "You can always shake your Magic 8 Ball and see what comes up."]
Seymour — that’s the Elf whose kitchen contains the Northern Lights — ends up being a pretty nice guy. Sure, he’s an odd fellow who sweats a *lot*, but you must admit he steams a good ham. However, delicious as it may be, a steamed ham is not a clue.
[continue]ghostwaiting: true
--naughty: 0
nice: 0
complicated: 0
Calvin: ""
Ramona: ""
Ariel: ""
Marty: ""
Pigpen: ""
Wednesday: ""
Sluggo: ""
--
You take a look at the first file.
**CASE FILE 1/7: Calvin**\
PRO: Kind to animals, especially tigers\
CON: The Noodle Incident
{dropdown menu for: 'Calvin', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[[Next case->Q2]]You read through the second file.
**CASE FILE 2/7: Ramona**\
PRO: Good-hearted\
CON: Troublemaker at home and school
{dropdown menu for: 'Ramona', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[if Calvin == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Calvin == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Calvin == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[[Next case->Q3]]You open up the third file.
**CASE FILE 3/7: Ariel**\
PRO: Reduces, reuses, and recycles\
CON: Disobeys her parents
{dropdown menu for: 'Ariel', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[if Ramona == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Ramona == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Ramona == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[[Next case->Q4]]You take a look at the fourth file.
**CASE FILE 4/7: Marty**\
PRO: Good and loyal friend\
CON: Set fire to living room rug
{dropdown menu for: 'Marty', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[if Ariel == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Ariel == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Ariel == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[[Next case->Q5]]complicated: complicated + 1
--You read through the fifth file.
**CASE FILE 5/7: Pigpen**\
PRO: Accepting of others\
CON: Refuses to bathe
{dropdown menu for: 'Pigpen', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[if Marty == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Marty == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Marty == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[[Next case->Q6]]You open up the sixth file.
**CASE FILE 6/7: Wednesday**\
NOTE: Has already been judged Naughty, but wants coal as a gift. Unsure what to do.
{dropdown menu for: 'Wednesday', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[if Pigpen == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Pigpen == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Pigpen == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[[Next case->Q7]]And finally, you reach the last file.
**CASE FILE 7/7: Sluggo**\
PRO: Is lit\
CON: Bad houseguest
{dropdown menu for: 'Sluggo', choices: ['Naughty', 'Nice', 'It’s Complicated']}
[if Wednesday == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Wednesday == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Wednesday == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[[You’re done!->end of quiz]]
[if Sluggo == 'It’s Complicated']
{embed passage: 'complicated'}
[continue]
[if Sluggo == 'Nice']
{embed passage: 'nice'}
[continue]
[if Sluggo == 'Naughty']
{embed passage: 'naughty'}
[continue]
[if complicated > 2]
Once you’ve finished, the squirrel quickly skims through all your case files. Her teeth chatter disapprovingly.
“A lot of ‘complicated’ stamps in here,” she grumbles.
“Because they *are* complicated,” you protest. The squirrel motions for you to follow her, and you do so, explaining all the while.
“There’s such a thing as extenuating circumstances,” you say. “And gray areas — especially when it comes to kids! Trust me, I know. Hey, where are we going?” You suddenly realize she’s guiding you out of the post office.
“Thank you for your help, Detective,” says the squirrel, but the tone in her voice suggests anything but gratitude.
“What? What’d I do?” you ask. “WHAT DID I DO?”
It’s only after she’s closed the door that you realize you weren’t actually asking about what just happened in the post office, but what you must have done wrong in a year long past.
You can’t help but wonder if someone might have ever come across your own case file, and, if so, why they stamped it the way they did. You sigh. Some mysteries are lost to time, and no one, not even a detective like yourself, can ever find the answer.
[else]
{embed passage: 'naughty or nice'}
[continue]
{embed passage: 'end of day'}visitedpresent: true
ghostwaiting: false
--
That night, you’re visited by the second of three spirits.
You’re just stumbling into your cozy room at the inn, hoping to get some much needed shut-eye, when a voice bellows forth as you open the door.
“COME IN AND KNOW ME BETTER, DETECTIVE!”
You can hardly believe your eyes — inside is a giant! He easily takes up half the room, while the other half is filled with a succulent feast. The room is decked with boughs of holly; warm lights hang from the eaves. It would be enough to overcome the senses… if you didn’t already know it was all an illusion.
“BEHOLD,” he booms in a merry voice, “FOR I AM—”
“Trespassing and committing a B&E,” you say shortly. “Now get out of here before I have you arrested.”
“BUT DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR WELFARE?” says the giant.
“I care about getting some sleep,” you growl. You push aside the plush green velvet of his robe, trying to find your bed. He must be sitting on it somewhere— but suddenly an idea pops into your head, causing you to look at the spirit in a new light.
“Hey, wait a minute,” you say. “You’re the Ghost of Christmas Present, right?”
“INDEED,” replies the spirit. “NOW GRAB HOLD OF MY ROBE, AND TOGETHER WE SHALL FLY TO—”
“Nope,” you interrupt. “Instead, just use your powers to find Santa. Or at least tell me where he is.”
“I WISH I COULD, BUT… IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT,” says the giant, his voice no longer jolly.
Augh! You kick the bedpost in frustration. “The Ghost of Christmas Past said the same thing. Why the heck not?!”
The giant heaves a sigh, shaking the very foundations of the room.
“BECAUSE IT IS NOT SANTA WE ARE TRYING TO SAVE… IT IS YOU.”
“What?!” You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. “Am I in danger?!” You look around the room, in case Krampus might be hiding nearby.
“I MEAN, NOT PHYSICALLY,” says the giant. “BUT YOUR SOUL IS A DIFFERENT MATTER—”
“Pfft! I’ll pass. Now make like a tree and get outta here! I need to review my notes.”
“YOU NEED TO REVIVE THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS WITHIN!” says the giant. “COME, EVEN NOW SOME AULD ACQUAINTANCES ARE TOASTING YOUR NAME AT THE DETECTIVES CLUB. LET US HEAR WHAT THEY SAY, AND DRINK A CUP OF KINDNESS YET.”
“No!” you say firmly, willing the Ghost to disappear. “I’m here to find Santa Claus, and that’s IT.”
“WE…” the Ghost of Christmas Present’s voice drops to a whisper. As you glare at him, the red bristles of his beard begin to streak with white. “We are just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help!” you shout. You push at his robes, causing the spirit to shrink in upon himself. “I don’t need the Christmas spirit, and I don’t need you! I DON’T NEED ANYBODY!”
And just like that, the warm lights, the feast, even the giant himself have all disappeared… leaving you alone in the dark.
[[The next day...->Main Menu]]nice: nice + 1
--naughty: naughty + 1
--[if nice > naughty]
Once you finish, the squirrel quickly skims through all your case files. Her teeth chatter disapprovingly.
“You’re a bit more… forgiving than what we’re used to at the North Pole,” she says at last. “But that’s fine.”
“I just don’t know if they deserve to be called naughty,” you say as she escorts you from the post office. “I’m a detective, not a judge, and there are such things as extenuating circumstances. We don’t even know any details about the Noodle Incident, for one thing.”
Once outside, she gives a sigh. “Look, we don’t always get it right, especially with these gray-area kids. It’s more of an art than a science, y’know?” She leans against the wall and pulls out a pack of candy cigarettes. She offers you one. “My gut says it’s better to be safe than sorry, but if you want to bump up a few extra kids onto the Nice List, I’m not gonna stop you.”
“Yeah,” you mutter, chewing on your candy cigarette. You can’t help but wonder about your own case file, and how — once upon a time — if someone had stamped yours just a little differently, your life might have turned out differently. Alas, some mysteries are lost to time, and no one, not even a detective like yourself, can ever find the answer.
[else]
Once you finish, the squirrel quickly skims through all your case files. Her teeth chatter approvingly.
“Well done, Detective,” she says. “You’ve been a big help.”
“Have I?” you ask. The two of you walk back to the post office’s front doors. “I just hope I didn’t make the wrong call for any of them. There’s such a thing as extenuating circumstances, and there weren’t many details about the Noodle Incident – whatever that was.”
Once outside, she gives a sigh. “Look, we don’t always get it right, especially with these gray-area kids. It’s more of an art than a science, y’know?” She leans against the wall and pulls out a pack of candy cigarettes. She offers you one. “If one of these kids gets accidentally put on the Naughty List, who knows, maybe it’ll inspire them to get their act together for next year.”
“That’s not really fair,” you say, chewing on your candy cigarette.
The squirrel sighs and blows out a bubble. “Neither is the world, Detective. You should know that better than anyone.” She pops the bubble with a loud snap.
[continue]tree: false
--Another barista brings over your {flavor} {base} with {topping}. “Message at the bottom of your mug,” she says, so smoothly and quietly that you don’t even see her lips move. “What?!” you start to say, but she’s already disappeared back into the kitchen.
You can’t follow her — that would be too conspicuous. You have an urge to down the drink in one gulp, but it’s way too hot. Instead, you sip and savor… and study the other customers for any suspicious behavior.
But other than the fact that the clientele is made up of folks you’d only ever see at the North Pole (Elves, woodland animals, and other Christmassy creatures), it all seems pretty normal. The vibe is supported by some lo-fi carols playing in the background. A few people are chatting, a wooden soldier reads today’s copy of the *North Pole Gazette* (the headline reads ~~DAY {currentday} OF KRINGLE KIDNAPPING~~), but other than that nothing seems out of the ordinary.
At last you finish your drink, and glazed into the bottom of the mug are three words: “**You are special**.” You gasp. Who sent this message? And why? What does it mean? Of course you’re special, you’re here to rescue Santa Claus — but what do they know, and what are they trying to tell you?
Your mind races with theories. You start to jot this in your notebook… but then you notice the barista emerge from the kitchen, brandishing another mug, this time filled with a frozen hot cocoa. She sets it before a snowman, says “Message for you at the bottom of your mug,” then returns to her duties.
Curious, you look over at a nearby bussing tray. Inside, four Jingle Bell Java mugs each bear a different inspirational message written at the bottom: “You’re a merry soul.” “Stay holly and jolly.” “Keep on Christmas-ing!” and “You are somebody.”
“It figures,” you say to yourself. “Guess I’m not so special after all.”
{embed passage: 'end of day'}“OK! Well, the birch is a symbol of rebirth and purification.
[after 3 seconds]
Krampus is the opposite: undead, impure.
[after 6 seconds]
Evil... and eternal.
[after 9 seconds]
How strange that he’s associated with a tree known for its purity and protective powers.
[after 12 seconds]
And yet...
[after 14 seconds]
Krampus uses dead birch branches to punish the wicked.
[after 17 seconds]
Why, though, I wonder.”
[after 20 seconds]
Once you’re sure the tree has finished, you thank him for his time. He didn’t provide any concrete answers, but it’s interesting, nonetheless. Highly symbolic, too… but what does it all mean, if anything? After all, this is a kidnapping case, not a literary essay.
You begin to depart, but the tree says, “Oh, Detective? [[There *is* one more thing.]]”*“Beneath yon birch with silver bark*
[after 2 seconds]
*And boughs so pendulous and fair,*
[after 4 seconds]
*The brook falls scatter’d down the rock:*
[after 6 seconds]
*And all is mossy there.”*
[after 8 seconds]
“Is that a clue?” you ask.
[after 10 seconds]
“No, it’s Coleridge,” says the tree.
{embed passage: 'end of day'}puborder: "egg nog"
--
You’ve never been too fond of egg nog, but you decide to give it a try — and are you glad you did! It’s a pleasant balance of eggy and noggy, so that neither flavor overpowers the other. It tastes better than the best milkshake you’ve ever had, and yet it warms you up inside.
{embed passage: 'Dominick'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}puborder: "Dew"
--
Your Dew is served in a wooden stein that resembles an acorn, and it tastes like it’s made from the purest mountain water. Seriously, you can’t imagine ever drinking water that tastes as good and pure and perfectly thirst-quenching as this Dew. You’ll have to ask for the recipe.
{embed passage: 'Dominick'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}puborder: "Doo"
--
Whatever Doo is, it tastes delicious. It has a light, sweet flavor, and is so crisp it makes you feel like you’re drinking starlight mixed with moonlight. If unicorns are real (and you haven’t seen any here at the North Pole, although who knows), this is their drink of choice.
{embed passage: 'Dominick'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}puborder: "root beer"
--
Ahhhh! You wipe the foam from your upper lip with a satisfied sigh. Now *that’s* a good root beer! The Holiday Butterscotch variety was the right choice, as it adds a buttery sweetness to the usual spiciness of the drink.
{embed passage: 'Dominick'}
{embed passage: 'end of day'}Although you’re quite pleased with your drink, the mood of the pub, like the sky, has continued to darken. At last, Lily the barmaid gets fed up with all the somber faces, and she raps on the bar with that corkscrew of hers.
“Ach, some night this is!” she says in her brassy, strident voice. “If it gets any livelier, a funeral’s going t’break out. Dominick!” she calls, scanning the pub. “Dominick, where are ye?”
All eyes (except yours) turn to a donkey seated in a corner of the pub. For a split second you think it might be Donkey from *Shrek*, but no, this donkey is someone different — you can tell because he’s wearing a derby.
“Come on, then,” says the barmaid. “Give us a dance on the bar.” The donkey gives a shy smile and clip-clops over to the bar.
“Who’s that?” you ask the barkeep, Mr. Clark.
“That’s Dominick,” he says.
“Yeah, I figured that out, but who *is* he?”
“You’ve never heard of the Italian Christmas donkey?”
“No…” you say slowly. “Was he in the manger at the first Christmas?”
The barkeep just chuckles, and gestures for you to watch. Dominick stands before the bar and begins to dance. The bells attached to his hooves jingle with each step, and you can’t help but laugh at his cute brays. Your laughter is contagious, and soon the patrons are laughing and clapping along to his little clip-clops. Before long everyone (including you) is singing a song that’s half in English, half in Italian, and half nonsense.
By the time the donkey’s dance has ended, the mood of the pub has completely changed, and everyone cheers as Dominick doffs his little derby hat.
“Mamma mia,” you say in wonder. Maybe it’s the {puborder} talking, but it feels like you’ve just witnessed a minor Christmas miracle.
“There’s a lot of interesting folks from around the world here at the North Pole,” says Mr. Clark. He takes away your empty drink. “It might be worth your while to research more about them.”
“Maybe later,” you say.“What?!” says the little log. “I would never eat Santa! I only eat tasty treats and trash, not people.”
“Think back to the night of December 5,” you say. “Did you eat a large sack — one big enough to hold Santa?”
[if visited19]
“Oh, of course,” says Caga Tió. He licks his lips at the memory. “It was so delicious and covered in sugar.” Ah!! So that explains all the sugar Krampus stole from the bakery.
[else]
“Oh, of course,” says Caga Tió. He licks his lips at the tasty memory. “It was delicious! And it shook when I ate it, like a sack full of jelly.”
[continue]
“Who fed it to you?” you ask, although you already know the answer. “Was it a big, goat-like demon?”
“Sí, sí,” says the little log. “You know, I don’t understand what everyone has against Krampus. After all, even *he* gave me a treat.”
The *Gazette* made a mistake, you realize. Krampus didn’t threaten to feed Santa to the dogs. He threatened to feed him to the *log*. And now, a century later, using Santa’s own magical sack, he pulled it off.
[if visited11]
“But what is wrong, my friend?” says Caga Tió. He’s too short to pat you on the shoulder, so instead he brushes against your knee in a sympathetic manner. “Perhaps eating a steamed ham would help. We could split one, if you’re not hungry.”
[else]
“But what is wrong, my friend?” says Caga Tió. He’s too short to pat you on the shoulder, so instead he brushes against your knee in a sympathetic manner. “Perhaps eating a gingerbread cookie would help. We could split one, if you’re not hungry.”
[continue]
“I think you’ve eaten enough, Caga Tió,” you say. “In fact… I think it’s time for *this*.”
[[You pull out the *vihta* branch…]]
You hesitantly swat at Caga Tió with the *vihta* branch. You’re not quite sure how hard to hit him — after all, you don’t want to hurt the little guy… but you also don’t want Santa to be trapped inside him any longer than he has to be.
“Oh, this is a surprise!” says the log. He sighs happily, and his bark ripples in pleasure.
“So how long until you, um, you know, poop out the gifts?”
Caga Tió opens one eye and gives you a surprised look. “Why, at the midnight hour between Christmas Eve and Christmas, of course — and not a moment sooner!”
All hope drains from you, as does your strength. You drop the *vihta* branch in dismay. “But by then it’ll be too late! Santa won’t have enough time to make his deliveries! Christmas will be ruined!”
[if visited5]
A chill runs down your spine as you realize that Rudolph was right — you’re going to have to be a substitute Santa after all. “No,” you whisper to yourself. “I won’t.”
[continue]
*“It needn’t come to pass,”* whispers a voice… one as cold as the mist emanating from a crypt at dusk. You can practically feel the words freeze over as they reach your ear.
You turn to the speaker, and your blood turns to ice as a shrouded, skeletal figure drifts towards you. “Oh my god, it’s the Grim Reaper,” you shriek, and you hide behind Caga Tió.
*“To some,”* intones the specter. *“For I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and I depict the reapings of what you have sown.”*
“Oh,” you say, your bravery returning. “Well, in that case, I told your buddies that we’re not doing that whole thing.”
*“I am aware, but I may be of some use yet,”* says the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. *[[“Behold.”]]*
[if visited11]
The mists, which were metaphorical just a moment ago, swirl around you and Caga Tió and the steamed hams stand, enveloping you all in a faint aroma of holly and myrrh. When the mists dissipate, the sun is gone, the stand is closed, and it’s just you and the little Christmas Log, alone in the darkness of the North Pole.
[else]
The mists, which were metaphorical just a moment ago, swirl around you and Caga Tió and the hot chocolate stand, enveloping you all in a faint aroma of holly and myrrh. When the mists dissipate, the sun is gone, the stand is closed, and it’s just you and the little Christmas Log, alone in the darkness of the North Pole.
[continue]
“Where are we, Spirit?” you ask, suddenly shivering.
*“Not where, but when. It is now the first minute of Christmas.”*
“Which means,” says Caga Tió, “it is time.”
“Will this work?” you ask, but neither log nor ghost reply.
You pick up the *vihta* and resume swatting at Caga Tió.
“Anything yet?” you ask.
“You have to sing the song while you do it,” says the Christmas Log.
“I don’t know the lyrics…” you protest, but Caga Tió interrupts you, his patience finally worn out.
“The lyrics don’t matter! Even if you don’t know the words, the message will come through. Now sing, friend! Sing as if Christmas itself depends on it — because it does!”
You look to the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come for any support or advice, but it remains motionless.
With no other choice, you clumsily improvise a song, choosing the tune of your favorite song in the public domain:
[[“Jingle Bells”]]\
[[“Happy Birthday”]]\
[[“Frère Jacques”]]\
[[“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”]]You sing to the tune of “Frère Jacques”:
*Caga Tió, Caga Tió, poop for me, poop for me*
[after 2 seconds]
*Christmas bells are ringing, but no one is singing*
[after 4 seconds]
*Set him free, set him free.*
[after 6 seconds]
[[And then...->Santa returns]]You sing to the tune of “Jingle Bells”:
[after 2 second]
*Pooping log, pooping log, time for you to go*
[after 4 second]
*Let out Santa from your bowels, right here in the snow — oh!*
[after 6 seconds]
*Pooping log, pooping log, gee, I hope this works*
[after 8 seconds]
*Oh what fun it is to deny Krampus — he’s a jerk!*
[after 10 seconds]
[[And then...->Santa returns]]You sing to the tune of “Happy Birthday”:
[after 1s500ms]
*Caga Tió, that’s you*
[after 3 seconds]
*Caga Tió, that’s you*
[after 4s500ms]
*It’s now Christmas morning*
[after 6 seconds]
*So please make a poo.*
[after 7s500ms]
[[And then...->Santa returns]]You sing to the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”:
[after 1s500ms]
*Caga Tió, time to poo*
[after 3 seconds]
*That’s the wish I have for you*
[after 4s500ms]
*Let out Santa from your butt*
[after 6 seconds]
*Hank Hill says “I tell ya whut”*
[after 7s500ms]
*Caga Tió, hear my song*
[after 9 seconds]
*Hope I didn’t sing it wrong.*
[after 10s500ms]
[[And then...->Santa returns]]You close your eyes and give one final, mighty thwack. You hear a resounding *crack!* like a giant log being split by lightning, followed by the muffled *whomps* of items falling onto the fresh snow, and then one larger, louder *PLOP*.
“Ahhhh!” sighs Caga Tió. “What a bounty.”
You brave a glance at the ground, and there he is, crawling out of his magical sack, perfectly fine — well, except for being covered in a strange Christmas goo. But it’s Santa Claus, safe and sound!
[if visited11]
“Ho ho whoa! Now *that’s* what I call Christmas,” says Santa. And just like that, the darkness lifts, the daylight returns, and you’re back to December {currentdate}, late afternoon, just outside the steamed hams stand.
[else]
“Ho ho whoa! Now *that’s* what I call Christmas,” says Santa. And just like that, the darkness lifts, the daylight returns, and you’re back to December {currentdate}, late afternoon, just outside the hot chocolate stand.
[continue]
“Please help yourself to a treat, friend,” says Caga Tió. He gestures at the little presents and candies lying on the snow. “I recommend the nougat.”
You aren’t sure you’d like to eat anything that came out of Caga Tió, even though everything is wrapped and looks perfectly hygienic… but then you spot a jaunty red cap that matches the Christmas Log’s.
“Thank you,” you say, putting on the cap. It fits perfectly!
“I should be saying that to *you*,” says Santa. He wipes off some goo and reaches out for your hand. You hesitate for a moment, but then stiffly shake his gross, sticky mitten.
“If it weren’t for your quick thinking, Detective, who knows how long I would’ve been stuck in there… or what might have happened if you struck Caga Tió with a different type of branch.”
“Oh, it would have been bad, I bet,” says the Christmas Log.
“You’re welcome,” you say coldly. Now that you’re seeing Santa for the first time — actually *seeing* him — all those old Yuletide resentments come surging back. “I’ll send a bill to the Elves.”
“Now, wait just a moment,” says Santa, and he looks you square in the eye. “I’ve seen less frosty receptions at a snowman convention! What’s wrong, Detective? Come, sit on my lap and tell me.”
Santa sits down on Caga Tió and pats his knee.
You decide to remain standing. Instead, you just say, “You don’t remember? When I was six years old? On Christmas Eve?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” he says, looking confused. He stands — a sign of guilt? Or reasonable discomfort over the tense situation?
[if visited11]
“I’m going to get something to eat,” says Caga Tió. He quickly waddles off towards the steamed hams stand. You pay no attention. Your focus is on Santa.
[else]
“I’m going to get something to eat,” says Caga Tió. He quickly waddles off towards the hot chocolate stand. You pay no attention. Your focus is on Santa.
[continue]
“I saw you!” you hiss at Santa. “I saw both of you!”
“Saw *me*?” he repeats, still confused… or pretending to be. “Doing what?”
And then you finally let it out, the secret that’s been festering in your heart all these years:
[[“I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus!”]]
currentday: currentday - 6
currentdate: currentdate - 6
--
As the clock tower strikes midnight, you stare up at the night sky. Somewhere, a church bell begins to ring.
It is Christmas, and you have failed.
You’re used to the feeling of disappointment, but not used to failure, and it feels… cold.
Or perhaps you’re simply disassociating in your cozy room at the inn, gazing abstractedly at the stars in the sky. They shine a faint, uncaring light on a world that’s about to experience its first Christmas without a Santa Claus.
Except… is it your imagination, or is that one star moving? No, it definitely is! And as it floats and twinkles ever closer, you realize with a sinking sensation that it’s not a star at all, but the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“No, no, no!” You start to back away from the window, then decide otherwise and shout out into the night air: “I already said no! I don’t want whatever you’re selling!”
“I’m not doing it for *you*!” hisses the spirit, its light suddenly harsh and cold. “Can you only think of yourself, on tonight of all nights, when out there” — it flings an arm — “is a world full of people who still believe in Christmas — even if you do not! And who will continue to believe, even if Santa never returns.
“No,” says the Ghost of Christmas Past, “I am not doing this for you, Detective. I’m doing this for *them*!”
The spirit’s light intensifies until it burns as brightly as the winter sun. You shield your eyes from its glare, and with that… you wake up.
You’re still in your room at the inn. Confused, you look at the calendar on your bedside table. It’s December {currentdate}.
The Ghost of Christmas Past has given you the gift of five more days.
[[Continue your investigation->Main Menu]]santa: ""
--
“Underneath the mistletoe that night!” you finish.
For a moment, the chill in the air drops a few degrees below zero.
When Santa speaks, all the merriment is gone from his voice. “Detective,” says Santa. “Look at me. Please.”
After a moment you force yourself to stare into his ice-blue eyes. You see nary a twinkle within.
“You know that was your father, right?” Santa says in his kindest voice. “He was wearing a Santa costume.”
You scowl. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“It’s the truth!”
“A likely story,” you scoff. It’s the oldest trick in the book. And besides, it’s too simple… and yet… if it were true… that would explain everything.
You shake your head. You know what you saw all those years ago. And all of your years solving mysteries have led you to this moment, this one crucial decision. So, Detective, which is it?
[[Santa must be telling the truth.]]\
[[Santa must be lying.]]
santa: "innocent"
--
“Oh,” you say. You feel… hollow inside. Like a balloon that has suddenly been popped. In fact, you feel a bit weightless.
“That makes sense.” Your voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “Now that you mention it, I *did* find it odd that Mommy tickled Santa Claus underneath his beard.”
“He was probably wearing a fake one,” says Santa, helpfully.
“Right.” You feel as if an itch has finally been scratched. You’ve always wondered why Santa had a dark beard *under* his white beard… but now it all adds up! Santa’s given you an unexpected gift this year: Occam’s razor.
And your face burns as you realize you’ve broken the number one rule of being a good detective — you let your emotions get in the way of the facts.
“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I was a fool.”
“You were a child,” says Santa, firmly yet kindly. “And a child’s belief is a powerful thing… which is why they must never play with satanic toys like Dungeons & Dragons or the Ouija board.”
You’re not sure if you agree with that sentiment, but you’re in no position to disagree right now. Instead you just mumble, “Thanks, Santa.”
“Ho ho *no*,” he chortles, and just like that, it’s all water under the bridge. “Like I said, I should be thanking *you!*
[if currentday < 11; append]
It felt like forever in that log,” says Santa as he checks his pocket watch. “But look at that — it’s only December {currentdate}! Why, Detective, you must be the world’s speediest sleuth… unless, of course, you cheated somehow.”
He gives you a long, stern look, before adding, “I’ll leave it up to you to decide which one is true.”
[continue]
[if currentday > 10 && currentday < 19; append]
And look at that!” Santa checks his pocket watch. “It’s only December {currentdate}! There should still be enough time to make sure this Christmas goes as smoothly as Caga Tió’s bowel movement.”
[continue]
[if currentday > 18]
And Gadzooks,” says Santa as he checks his pocket watch. “Look at that — it’s already December {currentdate}. Not much time before Christmas!”
[continue]
“And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do,” says Santa. “And poor Mrs. Claus… she must be worried sick!”
As you watch him trundle off into the snow, you smile to yourself and whisper your two favorite words: [[“Case closed.”->Case closed.]]“My father?!” you rage, finally boiling over. “My father, who had two broken arms that year?!”
“Well,” says Santa, looking away and fiddling with his beard. “Perhaps it was a temporary Christmas miracle.”
“Don’t gaslight me, old man! Do you remember what I got that year? Underneath the Christmas tree?”
“Look, Detective, I give a lot of gifts to a lot of children, and—”
[if visited11]
“A junior detective’s kit!” you shriek. Caga Tió and the other customers at the steamed hams stand look over at you.
[else]
“A junior detective’s kit!” you shriek. Caga Tió and the other customers at the hot chocolate stand look over at you.
[continue]
“That’s when I decided I’d become a detective,” you hiss, like an arch-villain explaining your nefarious plan. “To one day expose you as the fraud you are.”
“Look,” says Santa, his hands trembling like they’re made out of jelly. “Your mother was someone very special to me, and your parents’ marriage was on the rocks, anyway. Plus, Mrs. Claus and I were on a break at the time.”
You’ve had enough of his excuses and lies. Now it’s time to pronounce judgment. “You, sir, belong on the Naughty List!”
You’re aware of a crowd coming your way, led by an Elf with a card marked “PRESS” tucked into the brim of his stocking cap. He snaps a photo of you and Santa with an old-fashioned camera.
The flashbulb leaves you temporarily blind, but you hear the Elf announce himself as Scoop Scoopenmeyer of the *North Pole Gazette*. “What’s this about the Naughty List?” he asks.
As your eyesight returns, you notice Santa gazing at you pitifully, pleadingly.
You take a deep breath, and you…
[[Expose Santa.]]\
[[Cover for Santa.]]santa: "exposed"
--
“Santa,” you say, loud enough for everyone to hear, “belongs on the Naughty List!”
There’s a collective gasp from the crowd. Scoop takes another picture. People surge forward, asking questions, checking on Santa. More folks start arriving as word of his return — and of his scandal — begin to spread.
One thing you didn’t foresee: with Santa on the Naughty List, he can’t activate the magic of his sack… which means there won’t be any Christmas this year.
“What a shame,” you think to yourself, as you finish packing your suitcase. Still, you solved the case and sent your invoice, so there’s nothing left for you to do here. You’re just about to leave the inn when a large red-nosed reindeer enters your room, blocking your way.
“There you are!” says Rudolph. “Thank goodness you haven’t left yet!”
“Just heading to my biplane now.”
“But before you go, there’s something else.” His nose glows red with an urgent light.
“Another case?” you ask.
“Not exactly. [[You need to save Christmas]].”santa: "concealed"
--
“I was just saying to Santa that, um, you know… Krampus belongs on the Naughty List. Yeah, that’s it.”
The crowd voices their agreement. Scoop takes another picture. People surge forward, asking questions, checking on Santa. More folks start arriving as word of Santa’s return begins to spread.
“Now, please,” you say to everyone, holding up your hands. “Give Santa some room. He’s been through a *lot*, and I’m sure he just wants to go home, rest, and tell *his wife* that he’s OK.”
This seems to mollify the crowd, and they give the two of you a respectful distance until an ambulance-sled arrives.
“Why did you cover for me?” he quietly asks, once you’re both inside the sled and bundled up.
“I don’t know,” you say. Surprisingly, you’re no longer angry, like all those years of malice have finally been purged from your soul. And it’s not like your dad was an innocent victim in all this — he was no saint by any means. Neither of your parents were.
You’ve been in the detective game long enough to know that not everything is black and white. And that junior detective’s kit changed your life — it set you on the path you’re on now, and while it’s been a bumpy road with more disappointments than appointments, you wouldn’t change it for the world.
But you don’t say any of this. You have a feeling Santa might know most of it already — after all, he’s always been able to see you when you’re sleeping, and has always known when you’re awake.
Instead, you just repeat, “I don’t know,” and you’re both content to leave it at that.
[[Case closed.]]daysleft: 24 - currentdate
--
[if visited5]
“No way,” you protest. “Not interested!”
But as much as you fight it, Rudolph remains unswayed. As the only human at the North Pole (for some reason Mrs. Claus doesn’t count), you’re the only one who can act as a replacement Santa.
And considering the fact that everyone here half-blames you for the whole “Santa is on the Naughty List” thing — which is unfair, of course, but try telling *that* to a bunch of angry Elves and polar bears who’ve just had their hero knocked off his pedestal — you don’t really have much of a choice.
You also get the feeling that, despite rescuing Santa, you might not come out of this case looking all that great, and so you reluctantly agree to help. It’ll be good PR, at least.
[else]
“What are you talking about?” you ask.
A little Elf appears behind Rudolph. Unlike most of the others you’ve met at the North Pole, she’s wearing a dark green business suit.
“It’s the Santa clause,” she says, handing you a subpoena.
“The what?!” You try to dodge the paper, but the Elf thrusts it into your hands.
“Without getting into the legalese,” she says — and you can immediately tell by her tone that she’s some kind of lawyer — “you’re the human who’s most responsible for Santa being unable to fulfill his duties this holiday year.”
“That’s not my fault!” you protest. “Santa brought that on himself!”
“Be that as it may,” says the Elf lawyer, “the responsibility still falls upon *you* to act as a replacement Santa.”
“Well, that’s a dumb rule,” and although Rudolph and the lawyer (her name is Prudence Juris) agree, you still have no choice but to save Christmas.
[continue]
[if currentdate == 24]
For the next few hours, Rudolph, Elfenezabeth, and even Santa himself coach you on everything you’ll need to know. There’s a lot to learn: weather, steering the sled, chimney styles around the world, dealing with guard dogs, and evading other aircraft. Do you think you got it all? Absolutely not. Does it matter? No, because you’re out of time!
[else]
For the next {daysleft} days, Rudolph, Elfenezabeth, and even Santa himself coach you on everything you’ll need to know. There’s a lot to learn: weather, steering the sled, chimney styles around the world, dealing with guard dogs, and evading other aircraft. Do you think you got it all? Absolutely not. Does it matter? No, because you’re out of time!
[continue]
[if visited5]
As you ready the countdown to launch, Rudolph looks back at you from the front of the sleigh. “I know this isn’t the best time to say this, but… I told you so.”
“What?” you call back?
“About replacement Santas,” he says. His nose twinkles with a mischievous light. “It’s always the person you least expect.”
You have to admit he’s right.
[else]
“Tell me one thing,” you ask Santa as you’re about to begin the launch countdown. “I just have to do this for one year, right? Next Christmas you’ll be back on the Nice List?”
Santa just laughs. To your dismay, it’s more mischievous than merry. He taps the side of his nose and gives you a wink as your sled takes off into the night.
[continue]
<center><h2>THE END</h2></center>
As you take off in your biplane the next day, you spontaneously decide to circle around and do a farewell loop of the North Pole.
Surprisingly, the whole town has come out to wave good-bye. You even spot a few familiar faces in the crowd!
Look, there’s Caga Tió — you couldn’t miss him, not with that jaunty red cap!
[if visited1; append]
Mrs. Claus stands outside her cottage and blows you a kiss.
[continue]
[if visited2; append]
Frosty the Snowman laughs and runs along under the shadow of your biplane — he really *is* fast!
[continue]
[if visited3; append]
The North Wind bellows, “So long, Detective,” and the gust from its words gives you a nice tailwind.
[continue]
[if visited4; append]
The Sugar Plum Fairy zips through the air alongside you, leaving a spray of purple shimmers in her wake.
[continue; append]
And Rudolph’s nose glows warmly as he and the entire reindeer team fly alongside you as an honor guard.
Someone turns on the lights of the enormous Christmas Tree as you pass by, bathing the entire town in candy-colored light.
[if visited7; append]
You spot the Polar Express conductor, who screams, “Merry Christmas!”
[continue]
[if visited8; append]
The squirrel postmaster stands atop the post office, waving her tail.
[continue]
[if visited9; append]
From the Toy Workshop, Elfenezabeth and all the other Elves cheer wildly.
[continue]
[if visited10; append]
And there at the Reindeer Stables stands Max the honorary reindeer, wagging her tail and positively barking with joy.
[continue]
You fly past the mountain, where the many skiers raise their ski poles in salute.
[if visited11; append]
Hey, there’s Seymour’s house — he’s just taken a bite of a steamed ham! You chuckle as you see the Aurora Borealis through his kitchen window.
[continue]
[if visited13; append]
The clown at the skating pond has carved an elegant “Thank you!” into the ice with his skates — it’s very impressive!
[continue]
[if visited14; append]
Douglas Fir and the rest of the trees on the farm are singing “Auld Lang Syne” at you for some reason.
[continue]
[if visited12; append]
And even Mack himself jumps out of the frozen lake to give you a congratulatory splash.
[continue]
As you fly over the Hot Springs, the heat creates a slight updraft. Below, the attendants have placed massage stones in the snow so they read “Thanks!”
[if visited17; append]
Outside the Jingle Bell Java, all the baristas cheer, “YOU ARE SPECIAL!”
[continue]
[if visited18; append]
The inhabitants of the Partridge & Pear pub have all come out to raise a glass in your honor — there’s Mr. Clark and Lily and, of course, Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey.
[continue]
[if visited19; append]
The Elf baker waves from his bakery, looking rather contrite for having lost his temper earlier.
[continue]
[if santa == "concealed"; append]
Scoop Scoopenmeyer stands outside the *North Pole Gazette*. He takes a photo as you fly by for tomorrow’s paper.
[continue]
[if visited20; append]
And you find yourself shedding a happy tear when you read the movie theater’s marquee: “DON’T CRY BECAUSE IT’S OGRE — SMILE BECAUSE IT HAPPENED.” They’re even playing Smash Mouth’s “All Star” over the theater’s speakers!
[continue]
[if santa == "innocent"]
And last but not least, there’s the man himself, Santa Claus. He laughs merrily (you can hear it over the biplane’s engine) and gives you the biggest wave of all. You smile, put a finger to the side of your nose, and wink back at him.
[else]
And last but not least, there’s the man himself, Santa Claus. He gives you a respectful salute and a nod of appreciation. You offer him a thin-lipped smile as you tap your index finger against the side of your nose.
[continue]
[if !visited24]
<center><h2>THE END</h2></center>
[else]
[[But that’s not **THE END**.->cemetery epilogue]]
[continue]As the North Pole disappears behind you, you find yourself thinking about the one person who wasn’t there to wave good-bye… yet, strangely, it’s the person who’s been with you all this time — in spirit, anyway.
Jenny.
“What do you think of that?” you’d say, if she were here in the biplane with you.
You like to imagine she’d give you a begrudging — yet genuine — slow clap. But, as always, with Jenny there was always another mountain to climb, another case to crack. “So what’s next?” she’d say.
You’ve already got a number of interviews waiting for you when you get back to your detective’s office. Now that word of the case is starting to break, it’s only a matter of time before you become a household name. Why, you might even win Detective of the Year — and ohhh, would it feel good to shove that win in Benoit Blanc’s smug face!
But all that can wait. What was it that you said in the cemetery? Something about time healing all wounds? Maybe it’s time to reach out and give her a call. ’Tis the season, after all.
<center><h2>THE END</h2></center>