Oh, the holidays. This is a blessed, society-sanctioned time to wind down and let go after a long year of hard work. It’s a time to celebrate the end of things, and to reminisce, and to glory in living in the moment: to eat double-digit cookies, wear ill-advised sweaters, and swill dairy-based drinks.

But moments pass. What happens when the holidays are over, and it’s time to go back to work? What grim specter comes to haunt us when the twinkly lights go out, and the heartburn sets in, and tomorrow comes knocking?

Frau Perchta, that’s who.

Snow angel

You can thank Alpine folklore for this season’s holiday hellion. Frau Perchta (or Pehrta or Berchte or Berta or a few other things, depending on who you ask) started out nice enough. She was once known as the goddess Berchta, “the bright one.” 

Back then, Berchta was the protector of the forest, and beasts, and children that died in infancy. If she was not outright “good,” she was at least on the lighter side of morally gray. Berchta represented all of the in-between places, such as the time between this year and next. She was a goddess of duality: beauty and hideousness. Safety and danger. Life and death. 

Then the church got a hold of her. 

Church officials did not like that the Alpine people were still worshipping their heathen goddess during the 12 days of Christmas. They set out to make Berchta less appealing. They changed her name to “Perchta,” to start, associating her with the frightening “Perchten” monsters that would later become her entourage (more on them in a minute). And instead of permitting any stories about how Berchta could help children and mothers during Christmastime, they spread word that she was doing horrible things.

By the time Jacob Grimm reported on her in 1882, the more-or-less benevolent goddess had become something else entirely.

The great traditionalist

Frau Perchta’s feast day coincides with the Feast of the Epiphany, Jan 6th. It is a day that marks the last of the 12 days of Christmas and heralds the new year. 

To honor Perchta and this day, Alpine families would lay down their work, hang out with their community, and feast on herring and gruel. But first, they had to finish their tasks for the year first. The yarn would have to be spun, the looms set for weaving. Houses would have to be spotless. No clutter or unfinished business could weigh down Perchta’s feast day. 

It was a lot of work and ceremony, but it had to be done. Complete it all, and that night Frau Perchta would reward you with a silver coin. 

Miss anything, and you would never see the sunrise.

Do you see what I see?

In the dead of night on January 6th, a group of shadows steal through the village. One by one, they pass into each family’s home. 

There once was a farmer who still believed in the old ways of Perchta–that she was beautiful beyond measure. He wanted to see her. Thinking himself clever, he set up a room for her and her ghostly entourage to stay in his home. Then he hid himself in the room’s large stove, hoping to peer at her through a hole in the side. 

Perchta entered, still out of sight. Dark shapes passed in front of the hole. The farmer pressed his eye closer, peering, and then Perchta’s voice rang out, telling her follower to make sure the hole was shut. 

The farmer spent the night in complete darkness. When he climbed out in the morning, he found that everything was still dark: Perchta had stolen his sight. It was only returned to him 1 year later, when he climbed into the stove again, and the process was reversed.

The farmer got off lucky. According to some, Perchta is still the dual goddess she once was, able to appear as both beautiful and ugly. But when she’s punishing you, she ain’t no Instagram model. 

That Frau Perchta is shriveled, her face curling in on itself. She’s got bright eyes, matted hair, and a dress that’s tattered, torn, and hiding a knife in its pocket. One of her feet splays into that of a duck, suggesting that among her other talents, Perchta is able to shapeshift. 

Perchta’s troupe–the Perchten–aren’t exactly tall drinks of eggnog, either. Perchten look an awful lot like Krampus, with fangs, tusks, fur, and horns. The difference is that unlike Krampus, there isn’t just one of them, but a dozen. If you look closely, you’ll find that some don’t have any ears. This ensures that they can’t hear their victims scream. 

Holiday indigestion

Locked doors are no object to Frau Perchta and her troupe. Once in the home of someone who slighted her feast day–or left one spool unspun, or one spot of dust on the mantle–they slip up to the sleeping victim’s bedroom. 

Then Frau Perchta the Belly-Slitter takes the long, shining knife from her skirts. Maybe the victim has one moment to awake and realize what’s happening; maybe not. Perchta rips open their stomach. She reaches inside with one gnarled hand, grasps their guts, pulls them out, and tosses them to the side (perhaps for that ever-hungry troupe). Then she refills the cavity with pebbles or straw, and leaves the victim for their family to find in the morning. 

But that’s not all Perchta does. Once she’s handled lackluster parents, she goes for the disobedient children. She’ll catch them, grab their head, and scrape glass along either their eyes or tongue (depending on who you ask). Once her work with the humans was done, she seeks out any unfinished work, and stomps on it with her giant duck foot. 

Then Perchta and her crew disappear back into the dark, moving to the next house. 

Carrot or stick?

How ready are you to implement your New Year’s resolutions? Because as the blogger German Girl in America points out, that’s essentially what Perchta’s purpose comes down to. 

By punishing (or rewarding) people for taking part in tradition, Perchta ensures cohesion over the generations and between neighbors. But more interestingly (at least to me), she also ensures accomplishment. By demanding that the work of last year is finished, that homes are clean and prepped, Perchta positions people for success in the New Year. 

It’s easier to embrace tomorrow if you’re not still cleaning up yesterday’s mess. 

It’s actually kind of a helpful message. Too bad Perchta has to be such a dick about enforcing it. I’m going to take it to heart (or to stomach) myself as I tie up projects ahead of January 1. 

Happy holidays. Rest up…but not too much.

Would you chance disembowelment to avoid eating gruel? How about to avoid vacuuming? Share your risk tolerance in the comments below. 

IMAGE CRED: Vicky Brock from Inverness, UK for the lovely star; SimerlAltaussee for the disturbing fuzzy enterers, Holger Uwe Schmitt for the smiling Perchta; Holger Uwe Schmitt again for the smiling Perchten; Brezocnik Michael for the sick dramatic Perchten; and Holger Uwe Schmitt a third time for the Perchten-reindeer. Finally, thanks to Tristan Frank for the featured image.