A KIND GRANDPA WITH CARAMELS TURNED OUT TO BE THE MOST TERRIBLE MONSTER IN THE USSR
Omsk, October 15, 1971, a residential courtyard on Lermontov Street. Four women walk silently to the police station. The children—three girls and one boy—hold their mothers' hands so tightly that their knuckles have turned white. One of the mothers clutches a child's handkerchief embroidered with daisies in her coat pocket.
An hour ago, her eight-year-old daughter showed her this handkerchief and said, "Grandpa Grisha gave it to me. He said it was our secret." The mother asked what secret. The daughter explained.
The senior police lieutenant listens to the testimony and slowly turns pale. Because Grandpa Grisha is a seventy-four-year-old war veteran, known to the entire courtyard for three years as a kind old man with caramels. Medal bars on his jacket. Stories about the war, about a hedgehog in a trench. A bench between the entrances. A medal "For Courage."
The police officer puts down his pen, goes out into the hallway, and puts on his jacket. My hands are shaking—for the first time in five years of service. And in the old man's apartment, on the top shelf of the closet, sits a tin cookie box...
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⚠️ DISCLAIMER:
All events, characters, names, dates, and places mentioned in this story are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only.