Krampus stood in the doorway of a crooked cottage, his chains rattling in the winter wind. The family inside had ignored every warning. Their children threw tantrums and broke things. They lied and stole and never said sorry. Tonight, he would make them remember his name. Fear was his currency, and respect his reward. Every household that dared misbehave would learn what happened when Krampus came to call. He turned from the cottage and walked into the snow. His heavy boots left deep prints in the white ground. The mountain waited in the distance, its peak hidden in dark clouds. He needed a place to watch, to plan, to prepare. A cave near the summit would serve him well. From there, he could track every bad deed in the valley below. The mountain would be his throne, and the cave his hall of judgment. Every misbehaving child would know that Krampus was always watching, always ready to punish those who refused to learn. The climb took hours, but Krampus felt no cold. He reached the cave entrance as dawn broke gray over the valley. Inside, the stone walls dripped with ice. He dragged a black metal cage through the snow behind him. Its bars were thick and twisted, built to hold the worst offenders. When children needed to learn their lesson, they would sit inside it. Others would see them there and remember what happened when they chose to be bad. The cage would stand as proof that Krampus kept his promises. He hung a black bell from poles outside the cave mouth. The metal caught what little light filtered through the clouds. When he descended to the town below, the bell would ring out across the valley. Everyone would hear it and know he had arrived. Parents would grab their children and whisper warnings. The misbehaving ones would feel their hearts beat faster. Krampus stepped back and looked at his mountain home. His headquarters stood ready. Now the real work could begin.