It surprised both you and your friends when you agreed to spend a few days of December in Vienna with them. The finals are around the corner, you're struggling to plan how to visit all of your family members during the holidays and the gingerbread house you made a week ago collapsed the very next morning. You chose to believe it wasn't due to you constantly chipping away at it during the construction. It seemed as if you had zero time for yourself with your head in textbooks 24/7, feeling like you immediately forget everything you learn. It was frustrating. And so when your friend asked you (presumably out of politeness) if you'd like to join her and a few other people on a little trip to Vienna to go see the Christmas markets, you found yourself accepting the invitation. Hopefully, it would give you a chance to clear your head before the inevitable exams.
The markets were truly beautiful. With various booths standing shoulder to shoulder and the delicious smell of sweet punch and traditional Austrian food with snow crunching under your boots, you felt like in a Christmas movie. Tension and stress quickly leave you as you enjoy drinking and eating with your friendgroup, laughing and chatting about all and nothing. After you've had your fill, you decide to go check out Saint Stephen's Cathedral standing just across the street from the booths. The inside is marvelous, with high ceilings, smooth tiled floor and richly-decorated columns bathed in gold light emitting from the hundreds of lit candles inside. Your group wanders around quietly, careful to not disturb those who might be praying and eventually, you exit again.
Outside, masses of people have gathered along the walls of the cathedral, seemingly waiting for something. There's a sound of drums in the distance and something reminiscent of hooves against concrete.
"What's going on?" you ask your nearest friend, who doesn't look as confused.
"Oh, we're here in time of Krampuslauf," she replies nonchalantly, as if that explained everything. You frown softly and repeat, none the wiser: "Krampuslauf?"
"Yeah, you've never heard of it?"
When you shake your head, your friend grins mischeviously and adds: "It's a...traditional parade."
Before you can ask more, the drums and sound of hooves becomes louder, drawing your attention to the street. There, you see dozens of people in costumes of what you assume are some sort of demons, with realistic fur on their bodies and horns long enough to be a blinding hazard. Some of them sport prosthetic hooves or glowing eyes, and most of them are holding...sticks? You don't have time left to be confused when the furry demons begin blending into the masses, hitting some people over the head and growling at little children, making them cry. Some go as far as to chase them with a sack, trying to "kidnap them".
"Jesus Christ," you mutter. "What the hell kind of tradition is this?"
Your friend laughs at your bewilderment and shrugs: "I guess Austrians just like traumatizing children."
You'd object that some of the adults are probably pissing themselves right now too. You certainly would be if one of those creatures charged at you with a violent intent.
The parade moves along, some of its members shouldering their way through the crowd chasing specific people just to unnerve them. You instinctively cower, feeling exposed even while standing in the back of the crowd, the cathedral's stairs elevating you just enough to see the entirety of the street. And then, you see him.
A guy (you assume), nearly 7 feet in heavy boots and a furry goat-like costume, with the front of it unzipped, giving everyone a nice view of his shredded chest, marred with scars and even burns, two horns bent slightly backwards sitting atop his head. His face is obscured by a strange mask made from a dark fabric with what looks like two blood streaks running all the way down from his eyes.
Oh, the eyes...
You don't think you've ever seen such silverish blue in your life before. It was like looking at a river through a thick layer of ice. Just like his colleagues, one of his hands clutched a stick tightly, the other curled into a fist. He marches purposefully and graciously, sometimes harshly poking someone in the ribs with the stick or even grabbing at them to scare them. Strangely enough, his taunting seemed to entirely avoid little children. Nevertheless, every squeak, scream or yelp he received seemed to make him smirk, judging from the crinkle of his eyes under the hood anytime he'd bother someone. He seemed to revel in the fear and unease he was causing. He stopped for a moment and eyed the crowd for his next victim. You prayed his gaze would sweep over you quickly, leaving you unnoticed and therefore safe.
But it didn't.
Your breath hitches in your throat as his icy orbs bore into yours and pin you in place with the intensity of their look. You stand still for a moment, like a deer in headlights, hoping that perhaps he might deem you too boring to bully and move on to terrorize someone else.
Wrong again.
You hear yourself audibly gasp as he moves and begins a fast stride towards you, the sea of people barricading you from him suddenly parting before him like he's fucking Moses. You hear your friend squeal something in your ear and feel her shaking your shoulder, but you don't bother to answer - instead, you turn around and bolt.
It's scary. How one stranger managed to tap into the deep feeling of primal fear within you and send you dashing through the unfamiliar streets like your life is on the line. Maybe it is, who knows.
Despite your heavy panting and blood rushing in your ears, you can hear him. He's behind you. Close. You speed up, not having the time to think about the fact you still miraculously haven't slipped on ice and split your head open. But no matter how fast you run, he's able to keep up. In fact, you suspect he's letting you get away - letting you make him chase you - or at least think he's chasing you. He could easily snatch you up and do whatever he wanted to. He could use the 300 pounds of body mass to pin you against the wall and have his way with you...but he likes the challenge. It obviously thrills him. For some dumb, stupid reason, the thought makes you equally as aroused as you're scared. You're telling yourself it's just your damn mask kink acting up in the worst possible moment.
You're losing yourself deeper and deeper in the dark Vienna streets, the music and drums of the parade so distant you can't even hear it anymore and somehow, it's making the situation worse. Because now, his heavy steps and breaths sound even louder, even closer. Your lungs are slowly giving out and your legs are starting to get wobbly. You won't last much longer. He knows it too.
Eventually, you find yourself at a dead end. It's cold and dark and you feel nauseous. You stop, bending your legs a little and resting your palms on your knees, feeling as if you've just ran a fucking marathon. His steps cease as well, only a few feet behind you. You can hear his breathing, not nearly as heavy as yours. Silence stretches between you for what feels like minutes before you hear the gentle crunching of snow under his boots again and you gulp. He's walking towards you.
You hold your breath as he stops again, awaiting your possible demise. Slowly, he reaches out and surprisingly gently, he places his hand on your throat, slowly, but firmly pulling you into an upright position. You quiver, the leather of his glove cold against your flushed skin. He steps forward, bumping into you and forcing the front of your body against the brick wall, his chest right against your back. He leans in, murmuring in a voice that doesn't match his gruff appearance:
"Dumme Mäuschen... Dachtest du wirklich, weglaufen würde dir helfen?"*
You shudder, his breath warm on your neck even through his hood. You swallow, your throat sore from inhaling too many sharp breaths and stammer:
"I-I'm sorry, I don't understand..."
"Shhh..." he shushes you gently, his thumb rubbing over your pulse point, practically feeling your blood rushing under your skin.
"Don't worry, little one..." he murmurs again, pressing himself even closer, making you feel the hardness of his crotch against your rear.
"...I will be sehr gut to you..."
(*"Stupid little mouse... Did you really think running away would help you?")
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