His clothes are tattered, torn, and dirty. The furs he wears for warmth are matted, and reek of death. The bells on his bearskin cap jingle in the most threatening manner. Belsnickel has arrived. The children of the town are both delighted and terrified; they know they may get presents, or they may get the switch. They may even get both at the same time, depending on his mood, or if they appear too excited for gifts. The best plan was to be cautiously optimistic. Belsnickel smirks as if he can hear the collective thoughts of a hundred children, and walks up the driveway to the first house. What’s to happen? Even he doesn’t know. He feels the weight of the goodies in the sack in his left hand, and casually flicks the air with the switch in his right hand, taking a deep breath in of the crisp night air. Well, he thinks, it’s not really up to me what happens. Let’s see how the children behave. And with that thought, he quietly opens the front door.
Scent notes: Burnt sugar, a shot of espresso, juniper berry.
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