Transcript

Krampus and other Christmas Creatures | Extra Mythology Complete | Holiday Stories

From Extra History · Episode page · Watch on YouTube

· 46 min · 8,225 words · 59 timestamped sections

This is the full, timestamped transcript of "Krampus and other Christmas Creatures | Extra Mythology Complete | Holiday Stories", an episode of Extra History published December 20, 2025 (46 min, about 8,225 words). It mentions 6 people, works and ideas, including A Christmas Carol, Kagatio, Gila, Ule lads, Sophia Rob.

What is discussed, and when

  1. – 5:00: Nebula Gift Cards
  2. – 10:00: Kagatio
  3. – 15:00: Ule lads
  4. – 25:00: Kagatio
  5. – 40:00: A Christmas Carol
  6. – 45:00: A Christmas Carol, Nebula Gift Cards

Notable quotes from "Krampus and other Christmas Creatures | Extra Mythology Complete | Holiday Stories"

  • But before we break out the bells and whips, a big shout out to Nebula Gift Cards for sponsoring these holiday tales.
    about Nebula Gift Cards · at
  • Perhaps mid-winter werewolves or Kagatio, a smiling log that children in Catalonia sing to warm with a blanket and beat with a stick until it poops out candy and presents.
    about Kagatio · at
  • They do not live there alone. With them are Ga's brood of troll children, the Ule lads. They too would come down from the mountains and visit their ghastly punishments on the…
    about Ule lads · at
  • Shady or I'm sorry, Charles Dickens did was take advantage of a current invogue holiday and wrote his classic novella, A Christmas Carol. But who here's ever actually read that…
    about A Christmas Carol · at

Who and what is mentioned in this episode?

People

Books & papers

Concepts & topics

Sponsors

Full transcript with timestamps

Aw, happy holidays, extra historians. Come on in and hang up your coat. Pull up that wing tip chair and get warm by the fire. There's blankets on the armrest there, and Rob will get you a mug of his signature eggnog or mold wine if you like. Personally, I like to mix them both. M smooth. You know, there's nothing better on a snowy night than sitting by the fire and telling stories, especially if those stories are a little otherworldly. Tales of mid-winter monsters and marvelous creatures have been a part of our history for centuries after all.

Heck, maybe we'll even get to a tale about a tale or two. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Sit back, kick those knit socks up on the old ottoman there, and let me tell you five tales of winter wonders, starting with perhaps the most famously sinister Christmas creature of all Krampus. But before we break out the bells and whips, a big shout out to Nebula Gift Cards for sponsoring these holiday tales. Happy Midwinter everybody. Thanks so much for coming out on this snowy night to hear the wondrous tale of the darkest time of the year.

Deep in the Bavarian Alps, in an age before the light bulb and the electric heater, people count the long frozen nights. and they keep lookout for mid-inter is a time of magic. Phantom riders charge across the sky and goblins sneak down the chimney. But on December 5th, a figure of light and holiness comes to cleave the darkness. St. Nicholas bearing treats for children who've learned their prayers. And behind him stalks Krampus, whip in hand, to punish the children who have not. Be good and attend your studies, children.

For on the eve of St. Nicholas Day, the saint will come. You'll see the snowy soft beard, high miter hat, and crooked staff of the old bishop. And he'll bring cakes, dried fruit, nuts, and candies to children. He might even ask you to recite a poem or prayer, because after all, the saint loves education. But woe batide the disobedient child, the lazy child, the one who hasn't studied. For along with Nicholas comes his companion, Krampus. Krampus of the hooved feet, of the clawed hands and chains. Krampus with his lling red tongue and goatish horns, shuffling and lopping so. The great bells on his back the size of baby's heads clatter with the sound of buckshot in a can. Krampus, who beats naughty children with his bundle of switches or horsetail whip. Perhaps he might not beat you himself. If you are unworthy of a gift from Nicholas, Krampus may give your parents a bundle of birch twigs to hang over the

fireplace to use as they see fit. And those are the lucky children. The unlucky ones he takes in his great sack. What becomes of them? No one knows. He may drown them in icy streams, devour them, or spirit them directly to hell. And worst of all, there is never just one Krampus. Nicholas travels with a mob of three, four, or a halfozen. Okay, so you all might be wondering, where do these devils come from? And why are they traveling with Nicholas on Kramposnock? In truth, no one knows. Krampus emerged in the Alps, appearing in Germany, Austria, and northern Italy. Yet he is not a creature of any one country. The mountains themselves birthed him. Some say he's ancient and pagan, but this is unlikely. Bavaria is deeply Catholic.

And yes, though devils like Krampus may originate in the forest, much like the ones we sit in now. Centuries of Christian folklore and church teachings have changed them. If Krampus is a pagan devil, he is a thing only half remembered, far from his roots. But those who know the stories of Nicholas's life know that he is no stranger to frightening companions. Of course, there's the kindly stories, like where Nicholas came across the house of a destitute man who could not afford to pay dery for his three daughters to marry and instead planned to sell them to a brothel. For two nights, unseen, Nicholas threw bags of gold into their windows. And on the third night, he threw it down the chimney. It's why they say the saint brings presents. But there's also the story of the inkeeper and his wife who killed three school boys and chopped them up, putting them in a barrel to sell their meat. Blessed

Nicholas uncovered the crime and resurrected the boys whole in body. In some parts of France, they say this murderous inkeeper, old man Whipper, now punishes children for the saint the same way Krampus does in the Alps. Now, of course, everyone knows these stories because of the old Christmas plays. And some say that Krampus came from there too because these plays also feature the devil himself stalking the stage wearing a hairy suit and wooden mask, ranting and sometimes lunging at the audience with two fellow demons restraining him with the chains that wrap his body. And at times he drags evil characters into a smoky hellmouth and the darkness backstage. And that Lucifer so often on stage with Nicholas looks quite a bit like Krampus. And as if that wasn't terrifying enough, other winter demons exist and may have even birthed the saints vile companion. Folks say that the 12 days of Christmas are a time for

all types of ghosts and monsters to wander. But among the most frightening is the witch Fra Pera. She of the iron nose and scissors. She is far older than Krampus. Indeed, some folks say she was the goddess before the church came. But fallen goddess or not, these days the ancient crone visits houses to see if children have done their chores and completed their flax spinning. If they have, she will reward them with a coin. If not, she will creep in as they sleep, eviscerate them with her iron shears, and fill their empty bellies with unspun flax, wood shavings, and garbage. You don't want a belly full of garbage, do you children? Actually, it's for Pera that families leave out milk pudding, bread, and dumplings overnight. Well, for her and the horde of unquiet spirits and demons that form her entourage, demons that I will remind you look a great deal like Krampus. But whether from the stage, Pera's mob, or both, the

Krampus works with St. Nicholas. Now, the night before the feast of St. Nicholas the saint and his demonic attendants run through the town and visit children in their homes. Nicholas quizzes them on their memorized passages while the Krampuses swarm in afterward to howl, shake their chains, and snap their horsehair whips in threat. Now, you may have heard older children say that there is no Krampus, that the monsters which run through the town and visit your home are merely young men dressed in wooden masks, horns, and animal skins. props easily available to alpine farmers. But you're too smart to believe that, aren't you, children?

You've seen the crumpus at the village runs, lashing people with their whips and roaring in your homes, reaching for you as you shelter behind the dining room table. And maybe you've even been one of the bold ones, pushing your way to the front of the crowd at the Krampus Run, so that when the monster approaches, you can prove that you're not frightened. That you can reach out and touch the devil's fur. A test of bravery, a right of passage. You knew in that touch that Krampus was real. For how can one touch a legend? And after all, if Krampus was not real, how could he travel to America? I've heard that in the German towns of Pennsylvania, he goes by the name of Belshiggle, a long-ted horned man who spreads cake and candy on the ground. And as children scramble for them, he strikes their back with a rod. Don't believe me? In that case, visit Pennsylvania Dutch country on a snowbound night and wait. In the

dark of mid-inter night, you'll hear Belshiggle switch tap on the frozen window pane. So don't fool yourself into thinking that Krampus is the only strange being that haunts the holiday season. There's the wild hunt that tears across the sky. Perhaps mid-winter werewolves or Kagatio, a smiling log that children in Catalonia sing to warm with a blanket and beat with a stick until it poops out candy and presents. Perhaps I'll tell you about them next year. Until then, happy holidays everyone. And remember, be good. Krampus is watching.

You know, if he is watching, we should probably sing one of our favorite Krampus songs, right? He sees you when you're sleeping and he hits you with a rake. He knows that you've been really bad, so we'll drown you in a lake. Everybody. No. Okay, just me. You know, fun story. Rob actually wrote that episode after visiting a Krampus run in Austria. One of the rare times we've gotten to research an episode in person, which is pretty cool. But of course, Krampus is not the creepiest of holiday horrors. Not by a long shot. After all, in the rugged frozen terrain of Iceland, there's a group that makes Saint Nick's furry buddy look tame by comparison. I'm of course talking about the child eating giantist Gria, her mischievous sons, and her monstrous cat.

Yeah, I thought your ears would perk up on this one. Welcome to Midwinter, Friends, a season for tales of magic and visitors that come in the night. This year we travel to Iceland, a land riven with ice caves and volcanic fissures, where the average holiday temperature hovers above freezing, the northern lights dance overhead, and snow piles waist high along the cleared streets. There, Christmas is a season of darkness. The northern latitude ensures that the sun only shines for 5 hours a day, and most of it a thin twilight. A land where there is no St. Nicholas to bring gifts. For here there is only the child eating ogre Gila, her enormous cat, and her 13 mischievous sons known as the u lads.

Amidst this dark landscape, the season of yol or ule brings light and warmth to the winter. Families gather with hot chocolate and gifts of books and wool clothing. They make the traditional fried dough known as leaf bread and the town's lit up with a yellow glow of window lights bright on the snow frosted trees. And stories stories about what things move out there in the long night. Stories that date back to Ule celebrations of centuries past when candles glowed in windows rather than electric lights and when clothes were homespun from the country's many sheep farms. And long before even that, people were talking about gerilla. In the very old stories from the medieval era, Gila was a hideous beggar, a troll who would walk through towns asking peasant farmers to give her their disobedient children. Their delicious disobedient children, which she would spirit back to her hut, never to be seen again. But she

must have been driven away because later the story said she lived in a cave deep in the eerie lava fields. But while her home may have changed, her appetite for naughty children had only grown over the centuries. And now she can sense weward youth and is drawn to them. Around Ule, she descends from the mountains, her hunger insatiable, and kidnaps her quarry. The disobedient children, the lazy children, the ones who do not listen to parents. And she takes them back to her cave to prepare her favorite dish, child stew.

Her third husband, Leali, no story remains of the previous two, happily gobbles down the stew with her, but he leaves the actual child snatching to Gorilla since he's the lazy sort and prefers to loaf around the cave. But they do not live there alone. With them are Ga's brood of troll children, the Ule lads. They too would come down from the mountains and visit their ghastly punishments on the naughty. And though those tales do not survive, their crimes must have indeed been grizzly beyond measure because in 1746 the Danish government, which ruled Iceland at the time, made a public decree forbidding parents from telling their children tales of the u lads. But they still did.

Though a century later, it was clear that this intervention of law had tamed the lads more outlandish behavior. Sure, their mother, Gila, still ate misbehaving children, but her sons not so much. And the u lads still came from the mountains before Christmas. 13 of them, one each night until Christmas Eve. But now in these tamer tales, they rewarded children rather than punishing them. Each night, Icelandic children put a shoe on the windowsill. And by morning, one of the u lads will have visited, placing candy or small presents in the shoe. If they were good, that is.

Disobedient children find a rotten potato. So, as you can see, these bearded trolls have not lost their appetite for mischief. In fact, they still fill houses and farms with mayhem, each taking their name from an oddly specific act of disruption. It's a cold night on December 12th. The family is asleep, their farm wrapped in blankets of snow, and the animals are shut up warm in their sheds. And that's when the girl is awakened by a sound, and goes to the window. There she sees him. The first U lad, sheep coat Claude. He totters in on legs so stiff they're almost wooden, harassing the family sheep and trying to suck milk from their use, but he always fails, unable to bend over due to his rigid knees. The next night, she sees Gully Gawk, who lurks in a ravine until no one's around and then breaks into the cow shed and sucks all of the foam off the buckets of fresh milk. The third night, she wakes to hear

pots clattering and knows that Stubby has arrived. The jolly little imp bursts into the kitchen, snatches cooking pans, and hurriedly scrapes off and devours whatever food remains encrusted on them. Stubby's brothers spoon liquor and pot scraper arrive on the fourth and fifth nights respectively. On the sixth night comes their more cunning brother, Bowl Licker. He who hides under beds. And when dinner that night ends and the girl puts the leftovers on the floor for the dog, Bull Licker bolts out and snatches it, lapping up the delicious leftovers for himself. Next, in the middle of the seventh night, when all are asleep, door slammer arrives. He runs to the house, causing a racket, waking everyone. On night 8, skier gobber breaks into barrels and devours the family ski yogurt. And on the ninth night, Sausage Swiper follows suit, lurking in the rafters where he can make off with Link's hung up to dry. Then comes Window

Peeper, peering in the house to find things to steal. and then doors sniffer with his huge nose so good at detecting unguarded leaf bread. In the old days when families cooked on the fireplace or hung meats to dry around it, the 12th ule lad meat hook would climb up on the roof and reach his long crook down the chimney to snare a piece for himself. Today he just makes off with the lamb served at Christmas dinner. Don't fret too much though. They give as well as they take. Each one of the U lads leaves a present in the little girl's shoe. And finally, it's December 23rd, the final night before Christmas Eve, when people finish their shopping and families sing songs while circling the decorated tree. And after the family eats their traditional meal of skate and goes to bed, only then does the final u lad come, candlebar. Today, candle beggar is the most beloved u lad because as the last one, he usually brings the

largest present. But ho ho in days past he was the most terrifying because above all things he loves the taste of beef tallow candles. He would have cost children walking alone in the darkness snatching candles out of their hands laughing and gnawing on the animal wax as he capered away leaving them in darkness. But then Christmas Eve when the families eat a sumptuous meal of lamb and meat stew and open presents and nearly everyone receives a piece of new clothing. most of them even before this gift exchange. Now, I know clothes on Christmas isn't always the most exciting gift, but trust me, you're really going to want these new threads because a horrible fate awaits those who do not wear a new piece of clothing on Christmas Eve. In the old days, the story was told by bosses to encourage workers to finish processing their autumn wool by Christmas Eve, at which point they themselves would receive a

gift of clothing. Because on Christmas Eve, when all people are supposed to be inside with family and friends, when the streets are empty and even the buses stop running, something's still out there prowling the darkness. The Ule Cat, Gorilla's enormous feline companion, large as a tiger, who stalks down from the dark mountains, sliding into the light of towns. And as the girl turns, she thinks she sees bright eyes in the darkness, peering into windows at the well-wishers inside, looking for those who have not gotten new clothes for Christmas. In kinder tales, the sly feline merely ransacks and eats their Christmas dinner. But in the old tales, those that stick in your brain, she pounces on the unfortunate old clothed person and devours them. In fact, Icelanders giving each other clothing still say they do it so the receiver will not go to the cat. And then when the hulking monster has had its fill,

the cat returns to the mountains and its child-eating mistress to await next year. Soon after, the u lads leave one by one, day by day, until finally candlebar leaves on the feast of the epiphany, signaling the end of the holiday season, where the days get longer and the nights grow shorter until summer when there's nothing but daylight. But Iceland is not the only place with an alternative to Santa. There are wonderful and weird holiday traditions everywhere. In Scandinavia, men dressed as the ule goat used to give out presents and villagers would prank each other by sneaking large straw goats into each other's houses. In Eastern Europe, where the holidays involving Christianity and saints were discouraged during the Soviet era, it is the winter wizard grandfather Frost and his granddaughter the snow maiden who bring gifts. And of course, one day we definitely should explore Kagato, the

magical pooping Christmas log of Catalonia. Heck, we might even sing the song. But no matter where your myths hail from, we want to wish you all the happiest of holidays. And remember, wear's something new on Christmas Eve. Or you might just see a feline shadow slinking behind you. Hey, where did everybody go? Oh no, she's right behind me, isn't she? Zoe, it was just you. A happy holidays to you too, bud. Now quick, let's get all their leftover snacks. Oh man, Zoe, we had treats for weeks after that u lad's tail. But of course, when you hear the word ule, the first thing you probably think of isn't lads, but rather log, right? I mean, heck, we got a bit of a U log situation right here in the fireplace. But, you know, in the Catalonian region of Spain, people don't burn u logs. They treat them as members of their holiday family for a while anyway, in a tradition that is far less spooky than it is poopy.

That did not rhyme. Happy Ule Tide, everyone. Just as we've done in years past, we've gathered around the fire once again for another tale of holiday creatures. In previous episodes, we've told you the story of older, darker Christmas beings such as Krampus and the sinister u lads. So, I can't wait to see what horrors Rob has prepared for us this year. So, what are we doing, man? Is it Mary LWD, the rhyme spitting skull horse of Wales? Ooh, or how about the baby stealing Christmas demons of Greece? Huh? Oh, or a whole new book. Where's this going?

We begin today's tale in Catalonia on the coast of northern Spain where the winters are cool but the snow is rare apart from the high peaks of the Pyrenees. But no mythological monsters lurk in this picturesque wonderland of lit plazas and Christmas markets. Nothing grotesque or bizarre. Just nativity scenes, sweet nougat called Turon, a toasty fireplace and the tradition of a happy little log who poops presents. It's December 8th, the feast of the immaculate conception. And in Catalonia, a family is out in the woods, for it's a special day where they search for a special friend. Their ancestors have done something similar since the Middle Ages when they would look for a tree to cut down for firewood and burn a piece of it every night during the holiday season. A version of the uog tradition. But this family is not out to find just any log, but Tio de Nadal, the Christmas log. Now, the Tio

might be hiding behind a tree root or among the bushes. Oh, aha! A young girl spots him up in a tree. "Come on down here, little log." "You know," their mother says. In the old days, the Tio didn't have a painted face or nose, or even a traditional Catalan hat, not even these little legs. And in the heart of Barcelona with no access to the forest, children might even find Tio on their doorstep, and not in the woods at all. But this family is lucky to live near nature and be able to find this happy little Tio in the wild to take him home, because soon the Tio will work its magic on Christmas. But in order for that to happen, the children have to treat him well. After all, he's so cold after being out in the chilly winter night. So they place him by the fireplace and spread a blanket over him to keep the Tio warm. Then most importantly, they feed the Tio, gorge him with sweets, oranges, and maybe even a little port or

wine. In fact, each night until Christmas Eve, they'll lay out all these treats knowing that he's eaten them because of the leftover orange peels, cookie crumbs, and empty glasses they find the next morning. And the children want him nice and fat, wellfed so he can brew up the presents that they so want. Because it's important to remember the Dio doesn't bring presents, he poops them. That's why he's also known as kagatoio, shitlog. Now, many people from outside Spain translate that as poop to remain polite. But that's not quite correct. It means And permitting children to swear a little is part of the tradition's fun. Besides, if you change it, it messes up the song, which you'll understand very soon. But on Christmas Eve or sometimes Christmas day, when Kagatio is nice and full to bursting, they move him closer to the fire and start the festivities. The children will rush to another room,

instructed not to look at the tio until called back. Then, while waiting, they prayed to God that Gagatio will defecate delicious candies, hazelnuts, dried fruit, and perhaps small presents like gift cards or toys. But they especially want the Catalonian specialty ton, a nut-filled nougat. Then when they return, the children all take up sticks, surround the toio, and begin to smack him silly. All the while, they sing a song, which I'm going to attempt now, but please be gentle, comment section. I practice this a bunch, but Catalan is definitely not my native language. Okay, here we go. [clears throat] 1 2 3

[singing] [singing] Now, that rendition was just one variation of the song. There are actually many of them, some of which quite lengthy, but they all end in the same way with the children reaching under the blanket to grab a gift or treat. Or sometimes their parents might simply lift the blanket so the family can behold the mound of succulent treats. The toio pooped out for them. And then they clear all the presents away and do it again. In fact, they keep going into the other room, coming back to beat the toio and receiving presents until the toio is empty of all of his defecated goodies. An act which he signals by finally crapping out a salted herring or an onion or a clove of garlic or even urinating a bowl of water. Then everyone shares the gifts because anything given by the toio is communal property and therefore should be enjoyed as a group. It's both magical tradition and rhyme game with the added spice of

uncertainty over how long the presents will keep paying out. In the old days, the Tio might then be put on the fire to burn, his ashes kept for good fortune or spread on any crops the family might have. But more often than not these days, he frequently disappears to a deep closet after Christmas, making way for the bigger gifts. Because Teodada only brings the small presents. The larger ones come on January 6th, the feast of the Epiphany, when the three kings who visited Jesus in the nativity come flying in on their camels, giving Catalonian children presents much like Santa, who due to the prevalence of American culture, sometimes pays a visit as well. The presence of the three kings is a good reminder that in Catalonia, many Christmas traditions are still tied to Catholicism. For the most popular decoration, there is not a tree or a stocking, but a nativity with classic biblical characters like Mary, Joseph,

the baby Jesus, the shepherds, this man taking a dump, and the three Sorry, what? You want me to go back to the baby Jesus or oh no, the pooping man, right? Sure, that's the Kagan, the A necessary inclusion in any Catalan nativity scene. Gaganire's origins remain obscure. But he's a man in traditional Catalan peasant garb who people believe helps well make the new year fertile. Kind of in the same way people pooping in the fields used to make crops fertile. Huh. That's uh that's it. That's all we got. Other than the fertility thing, we don't actually know where this comes from. But hold on. Okay. The the pooping guy, the pooping log. Why all the pooping? It doesn't really make any sense.

What are you talking about? Of course, Santa makes sense. He used to be the bishop of Turkey, right? But now he lives in the remote North Pole where he runs a factory full of elves that make the exact same toys a parent can get from the store. And then once a year he gets in his sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, climbs down your chimney, even if you don't have one. And yeah, okay. Okay, you know, now that I'm hearing it out loud, uh, no, I get it. Uh, Santa does not make sense either. So, why do people do any of this? Simple. It's fun.

And it's good to remember that sometimes a cultural practice or story lives on through the ages because it's enjoyable. Traditions like Gagato have survived due to them being silly and playful, which is pretty neat when you really think about it. And thus, we are at the close of another holiday extra mythology. And hey, if your country has a wonderful or weird piece of winter lore, we'd love to hear about it in the comments. Who knows, you might just inspire our holiday story next year. But until then, let's finish off this year in a spirit of warmth, companionship, and beating the poop out of a happy little log. Come on, everyone.

[singing] You know, I ask you, who amongst us doesn't love beating a log while singing a happy little song? Of course, if we're going to pull a creature as obscure as Teo de Nadal for our tales, we should probably also talk about the big man himself and share with you the history of a holiday hero. Up in the sky, it's a bird. It's a plane. Oh, wait, no, it's Santa Claus. Oh, friendos. It's that time of year again when the jolly man in red appears. Well, kind of everywhere. All in one night, too. You know, come to think of it, if Santa is a super speedy, magical, possibly immortal, omnisient dogooder with a secret base in the North Pole and over a millennia of rebrands, that does kind of beg the question, is Father Christmas a superhero? Well, if so, he hasn't always been that way. From his beginnings in the Roman Empire to his modern incarnation, St. Nicholas has undergone some serious metaphysical

changes. In fact, of all of his powers, his ability to reinvent himself has probably been his least well-known, but may very well be his strongest. So, grab some cocoa, get cozy by our fire, and enjoy the magical origin story of a man named Nick. Now, much of the historical record surrounding St. Nicholas or Nicholas of Myra has been lost to time, but what sources remain suggest that he was the son of wealthy Greek Christians and born into a port town on the Mediterranean Sea sometime around 270 CE. And crucially, as far as we know, he wasn't born with any magical abilities or anything. But what he did have was an uncle who saw promise in the young lad and taught Nicholas two skills that he would hold for his entire perhaps immortal lifetime. Charity and devotion.

skills that would be put to use almost immediately. And as with many superheroes, Nicholas's call to action was tragedy. When his parents were taken by a plague, the young man was devastated. But he was also left with a pretty sizable fortune. With all that wealth, Nicholas decided that it was time to help people by building a secret layer, dawning protective armor, and punching criminals in the throat. I'm sorry, that's the wrong story. He actually decided a better way to help would be by distributing his wealth to the poor. Nick's secret layer and custom suit would of course come later. One day, while he was looking for the most needy, Nicholas overheard the plea of a merchant who could no longer afford the dowy for his three daughters. Without them, they could never marry, and without marriage, he feared they would be destined to work as ladies of the night, which gave Nicholas an idea. Not

like that. Get your head out of the holiday gutter. He could adopt the night. That evening, under the cover of darkness, he approached the merchant's house and whipped a bag of gold through the window. Shocked and overjoyed, the next day the merchant secured the marriage of his oldest daughter. And after the successful wedding, Nicholas repeated that same feat. And again, another daughter was married. But when Nicholas returned to complete his matrimony hattick, the merchant caught him. Overcome from all of the generosity, the man fell to his knees and wept, offering everything he owned as repayment. But all Nicholas asked was that his gifts and his name were kept secret, which obviously didn't happen.

So Nicholas left Myra for greener and more secretive pastures. And during his travels, he came upon three prisoners about to be executed. But looking upon the men, something inside of his head started tingling. Was this the work of God? Was he developing his Santa sense? Because as he gazed at the accused, he somehow knew they were innocent. So fearlessly he walked into the square and pushed the executioner sword to the ground. And as the crowd watched on in stunned amazement, he freed the prisoners from their chains. But even as the men celebrated their freedom, Nicholas's strange feeling just wouldn't stop. Though it wasn't exactly the same feeling as it was before, because the Santa we know doesn't just know who's been nice, right? He's got a naughty list, too. which led him to look upon one of the jurors, suddenly knowing he had taken a bribe to pass the false verdict on the innocent men, justice.

Next, Nicholas went, "Well, actually, we don't know exactly as sources tend to gloss over the rest of his life. What we can surmise, however, is that he spent his remaining days devoted to the art of charity, helping innocence, and other forms of elaborate dooodery. That is until eventually on December 6th, 343, when Nicholas died." But, you know, like did he though? Because as these centuries marched on, the stories of his exploits still grew. And with these growing tales, Nicholas became something more than just a man. His devotion to an ideal made him something else entirely.

He became a full-fledged saint. And over time, the tales became more and more outlandish. He came to people in their dreams. He defeated demons by cutting down a tree. He duplicated grains to feed hungry people. He saved a ship by rebuking the very waves themselves. and he even resurrected children. These stories kept St. Nicholas in the hearts of the people. And so December 6th became a day of celebration with secret giftgiving in his memory. Children left shoes out overnight hoping to find a gift from the venerated saint. And when those wishes came true, well, who could truly say the saint was actually gone for good? Then over the following centuries, St. Nicholas began to borrow facets of waning pantheons. From the Roman pantheon, his feast came to resemble Saturnelia, a day of revalry and drinking. And from the Norse pantheon, he adopted Odin's power of flight, and a couple of reindeer. And

for the next 1 and a half millennia, St. Nicholas was the undisputed giftgiver for the Western world. But keep in mind, it wasn't all presents and joy yet. He was also pretty strict. In fact, in parts of Alpine Austria, he even had a crypted by his side to keep people in line. the monstrous Krampus, which you can and totally should learn more about here in our previous episode. But eventually during the 1500s, everything changed. Some say that it was the Protestant Reformation that had the saint fall out of favor, though I sort of like to think that after such a long time, he simply got bored. Either way, though, the job of giftgiving stopped being assigned to St. Nicholas and instead fell upon the baby Jesus. But, you know, babies, as far as I can tell, can't really carry too much. So, St.

Nicholas remained. This time though, as a vicious helper. Here he took on many names. Ruklaus, rough Nicholas, Ashenclass, Ashy Nicholas, and Bell's nickel, furry Nicholas. Wait, what? All right, sure. Look, whatever his name, this new incarnation of the saint followed in the shoes of Krampus, punishing bad behavior with terrible consequences like whipping or kidnappings. And so, for a few hundred years, St. Nick played his heel turn. But, you know, in his heart, he knew this wasn't his calling. So when settlers departed for the new world, St.

Nicholas under the name Cinterclass sailed with them. But when his day of revalry came around, it was yet another body boozy affair. And St. Nicholas was kind of over it. This wasn't the kind secret charity that he championed all those years ago. Was this drunken ruckus really the best he could muster? Well, resolute on yet another rebrand, St. Nicholas headed north. And of course, we know that that wasn't the end, rather a new beginning. In the night sky of 1800's New York, a man named Washington Irving saw something so remarkable he had to write it down. A pipe smoking Nicholas soaring over the rooftops in a flying wagon delivering presents to good children. Over the years, more sightings of a nocturnal giftgiver cemented his new brand. And now he had reached his current form of Santa Claus. Always being jolly and having a magical sleigh pulled by eight flying reindeer, sometimes nine, though. Going off script

here for a moment. I got your back, Rudolph. Don't ever let anyone shut you out. And with his powers and such wonderful toys. Boy, can that man get around. From his base at the North Pole, Santa Claus began delivering gifts to the entire world in one night. Not bad for a well, air quotes average boy from the Roman Empire, huh? So, with all of that said, is Santa actually a superhero? Well, let's go down the checklist. He's got sweet powers, a sick flying vehicle, a secret snowy base, and a burning desire to do good for the whole planet. Meaning, if it were up to me, Santa's Justice League membership card would already be in the mail. Now, of course, there's more to Christmas than just Santa. For example, just off the top of my head, ghost.

Yeah, tons of them. Ghost stories at Christmas is a long tradition. Though today we mostly associate it with one particular ghost story. A tale that many argue is actually the origin of the Christmas holiday as we celebrate it today. Imagine if you will a famous author in Victorian London with a good series of successful books, but whose latest work was kind of a flop. His publisher tells him, "If the next one doesn't take the egg, we're cutting your salary." Now he's only got one shot, one opportunity to write a surefire hit or his money problems are only going to get worse. So is he going to recapture his popularity or just let it slip? Well, what Slim Shady or I'm sorry, Charles Dickens did was take advantage of a current invogue holiday and wrote his classic novella, A Christmas Carol. But who here's ever actually read that original story? Yeah, that checks out. Looks like we got a holiday episode on our hands. So, you

haven't read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens? Even so, I'm still willing to bet that you know it includes a miser named Scrooge who gets visited by a bunch of ghosts who scare the Dickens out of him. So, since we're going off the assumption that most of us know the summary, let's spend a little more time looking at something that really fascinates me. How the way many people celebrate Christmas to this day is directly influenced by the success of A Christmas Carol. It was 1843 and for a decade, Charles Dickens had been the literary toast of London. Not to mention, he'd just written his next novel, which he thought would be considered his greatest achievement. A work of literary art that's fame would surely outlive him, entitled Martin Shuzzlewit. How is it, you ask? Well, I never really want to yuck anyone else's yum. But let's just say I am fairly confident we will never do a so you

haven't read Martin Shuzelwit episode. Sorry, Charlie. Readers at the time weren't especially excited either. When Shuzzawit's sales underperformed, his publishers, the Scrooes that they were, told Dickens that if his next novel didn't knock it out of the park, they'd reduce his monthly income by £50, a considerable amount of money back in the day. And Dickens knew what it was like to live in poverty. When he was 11, his father was sent to Marshall, a notorious London debtor's prison. In fact, at the time, over 50% of London's prisoners were locked up due to their debt. So, in order to make money for his family, young Charles had to leave school and work in a factory 10 hours a day. He'd been a proponent of economic reform ever since, a theme that runs through nearly all of his books. With all this financial pressure on him, Dickens, nervous but on the surface looking calm and ready, found inspiration for his

next story while walking the streets of London. There he witnessed the abject poverty and the deplorable living conditions of the poor and their children once again firsthand. And wanting to find a way to draw attention to their plight, he had an epiphany. A Christmas story connected to an appeal for the poor might be a great way to both inspire charity and get him a hit with his publisher. See, Christmas was in vogue in London at the time, even though for many preceding years, Christmas celebrations were primarily associated with rural life. But then, in the 1830s and 40s, Londoners started celebrating with family gatherings, games, carols, and feasting. No better way to sling books or YouTube videos, wink, than to join in on a current trend. So Dickens got to work and in only six weeks wrote A Christmas Carol which begins with Ebenezer Scrooge, the very model of an uncaring London Money

Counter. He lives a solitary life, especially since his business partner, Jacob Marley, passed away. Then on Christmas Eve, he's working in his office when he's constantly interrupted. First by men seeking charitable donations, which he sends away. Then by his nephew inviting him to a Christmas gathering, which he declines. And finally, by his one employees request for time off on Christmas Day, which he begrudgingly grants only after making sure he would be in early the next day. Dang, you're a mean one, Mr. Scrooge.

Then, as he's getting ready for bed that night, he's visited by the ghost of his former business partner, Jacob Marley, covered in chains. Marley explains that the chains were forged from his own selfishness when he was alive, and that Scrooge was destined for even heavier chains. unless he changes his greedy ways. And in a lastditch attempt to save his soul, three more ghosts will pay him visits. Scrooge is shaken by the visit to say the least. Knees weak and palm sweaty. Then, true to Marley's word, the first ghost promptly appears, identifying themselves as the ghost of Christmas past. They show Scrooge the more innocent times in his life, including his old wonderful boss, his close relationship with his now deceased sister, and how his growing greed caused him to lose the love of his life.

heartbroken at the realization of how much he's changed. He then extinguishes the ghost like a candle to stop the visions. But then he's immediately visited by the ghost of Christmas present. This ghost shows Scrooge how disconnected he's become from humanity. They visit his nephew, who's actively drinking to Scrooge's health and wishing the old miser would attend his party. And the ghost also shows Scrooge how his poor employee Bob Cratchet is celebrating the day with his family, most notably his small son, Tiny Tim.

Though Scrooge is racked by guilt when he learns from the ghost that Tiny Tim is not likely to live long due to the family's desperate poverty. Now, it's here where Dickens makes his most overt connection to the current state of London. Because in the original version, beneath the robes of the ghost of Christmas present are a pair of terrifying children that the ghost identifies as ignorance and want. Dickens hoped his audience would realize that these represent starving and destitute children in their own towns. Then finally, Scrooge is visited by the ghost of Christmas yet to come. A terrifying spirit whose visions of the future shake Scrooge to his core.

Evidence of the death of Tiny Tim, but also how Scroo's own death inspires not a shred of sympathy. Horrified, he vows to change. Snap back to reality. Scrooge wakes up on Christmas morning, a changed man. In the course of the day, he makes an enormous donation to help the poor and attends his nephew's Christmas party. Then the next day at work, he rewards Cratchet with a raise and eventually becomes a second father to Tiny Tim, who survives in part due to Scroo's aid. Our reformed hero lives to break the chains of greed and selfishness, win the love and respect of his community, and keep the generous Christmas spirit in his heart every day from that day on. When Dickens published this novella, it was an immediate hit.

Its entire first run sold out, the critics loved it, and his career was saved. But more importantly, word got around London that people who read A Christmas Carol were inspired to give generously to the poor. Poverty was not defeated, of course, but his story did directly improve the lives of many people. And though he didn't live to see it, the enduring popularity of A Christmas Carol cemented many of the Victorian Christmas traditions in the English-speaking world from that time forth, including the new tradition of helping the less fortunate at Christmas time. He also helped give rise to the popularity of the phrase merry Christmas as well as the phrase ba humbug. And in Scrooge, he gave the world an iconic character synonymous with greed and change. In fact, Dickens story has itself become a ubiquitous part of the Christmas season. Not too bad for a book that was written in part out of

desperation. And getting together with friends to share a story and then do something for the community is exactly how Charles Dickens would have wanted us to lose ourselves in Christmas today. So, from all of us at the coffee shop, we hope you have a wonderful holiday season. And we wish you and yours all of mom's spaghetti you can eat. There you have it, my holiday historians. A host of Christmas creatures, both marvelous and malign, that show us that midwinter has always been as haunted as it's been holly andor jolly. Seriously though, thank you so much for spending some of your holiday season with us. And please remember, as you are finishing wrapping your presents this year, or putting the last batch of cookies in the oven, or even googling how long it takes to defrost a turkey for the 17th time, all of us are wishing you and yours the happiest of holidays.

Ooh, good point, Zoe. Do you happen to be in the market for a lastminute gift that you can get delivered right this very second? Perhaps one that allows you to see awesome original content you can't get anywhere else while also supporting independent creators like us? Well, if that is the case, then why not fill that void in a loved one's stocking with a year of Nebula on one of these nifty new Nebula gift cards? Because Zoe, did you know that for the last days of December, you can scan the QR code right here or click the link below and get 50% off? And these babies will give them access to so much cool stuff.

What? Of course, you can watch all of our shows early and ad free on Nebula, including our yet to be released on YouTube episode on Parallax, the father of the flat earth movement, whose grifting was so effective that his obviously incorrect arguments are sadly still alive today. But it gives us a really, really fascinating historical story. And we're just one of over 200 creators releasing amazing shows and originals over on Nebula, many of which you can't see anywhere else. For instance, game shows from the Wendover crew like Jet Lag and The Getaway, films like Identities by Jesse Jender and The Dinner Plan by Patrick Williams, comedy series like the longrunning NYC standup show Abolish Everything, which I will be back for on season 2, and exclusive deep dive documentary series from real life lore like Mad Kings and War Room, you know, just to name a few. But here's the really neat part, okay? When you give

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Questions about this episode

What is discussed in "Krampus and other Christmas Creatures | Extra Mythology Complete | Holiday Stories"?

In order: 0:00 Nebula Gift Cards; 5:00 Kagatio; 10:00 Ule lads; 20:00 Kagatio; 35:00 A Christmas Carol; 40:00 A Christmas Carol, Nebula Gift Cards.

What is mentioned in this Extra History episode?

6 people, works and ideas are mentioned, including A Christmas Carol, Kagatio, Gila, Ule lads, Sophia Rob. Each one on this page links to its own page with every episode that mentions it.

How long is "Krampus and other Christmas Creatures | Extra Mythology Complete | Holiday Stories"?

The episode runs 46 min; the transcript is about 8,225 words in 59 timestamped sections.

More from Extra History

About this transcript: the episode's spoken words as captioned on YouTube, split into timestamped sections. Reclip.Me locates every person, work and idea in the text, keeps the time it is first named, and quotes the words around it verbatim. Last updated January 24, 2026.