For Love of Child

The following is based on an investigation report covered by the Inquistr...

     August 1995.  Kyshtym, Chelyabinsk, Russia.
     Tamara Vasileivna Prosvirina shambled over to her beloved son.  He'd lain six feet below her feet, his headstone inscribed with his name, birthday, and death day (April 1951).  She had missed him dearly, ever since the United Nations recruited him for their war in Korea.  They took him away from her.  Even after her husband passed away, after her other children moved on to have families of their own, her dead son she had missed the most.
     "Oh," she cried out, "how I've missed you."
     I've missed you, too, Mama, she heard.
     "What?"  Tamara looked around to see who had spoken, but she was alone in the cemetery.  She came at least twice a week to visit and talk to her son.  When she was younger, she'd walk to the cemetery every other day, and back in those days, people would come to visit their dead loved ones.  But since she'd grown old, her body wouldn't cooperate.  She made less frequent trips, and others did not come to the cemetery anymore.  The cemetery was empty.
     I'm back now, she heard the voice again.  But you won't recognize me.
     "Who are you?" Tamara searched, but saw no one.  "Where are you?"
     Mama, the voice said, I am here.
     Tamara took a few feeble steps toward where she thought the voice had come.  A few moments and she spotted something small moving near a grave marker.  A naked hew born child looked up at the elderly woman when she approached.
     Mama, she heard the voice, it is good to see you again.
     "Oh, baby," Tamara cried, and picked the child up off the ground.  "You came back to me."
     I have, but, the voice said, you cannot tell anyone that you have found me, or who I really am.
     "Of course, I won't."
     Tamara carried the child back to her empty home and cared for him as if he was her own son.  "I will call you Alyoshenka," she told him, "to hide your true self."
     Several days later, news spread around the small village about the child, and the villagers were curious as to how such a venerable woman could acquire a child, let alone take care of it.  "The old lives alone," they said.  "She could hardly take care of herself."  Rumors spread quickly that Tamara was mentally ill and the child was just a figment of the old woman's imagination.  She needed medical attention, the whispers told.
     Concern for Tamara spread even to the authorities, and in May of 1996, they discovered the old woman feeding the mummified corpse of a new born child.  They declared her mentally ill and transported her to the nearest psychiatric institution.  All the while, Tamara cried out, "Stop, please.  I have to take care of him.  You don't understand.  He's my son!"
     While Tamara sat in her confined room at the institution, Vladimir Nurditov, one of Tamara's neighbors, pried open a window to the old woman's empty house.  While she was away, probably for a very long time, Vladimir knew she wouldn't be needing what was in the house.
     He climbed into the dark house, looking around for any valuables, but only found cheap baubles as decorations and nothing of real value.  He had heard in the news, copper had a high street value and criminals were drawn to the precious metal, robbing any place it would be stored.  Perhaps the electrical cabling would fetch a lot of money, he thought.  To get to it, he thought, I would need my tools.
     Before he left Tamara's house, he passed by her bedroom and spotted something dried and brown in a tangle of blankets.  Curiosity had gotten the best of him and stepped toward the wadding.  Lying in a carefully wrapped blanket was the mummified child he had heard about.  However, the child had strange features not like any child he had ever seen.  The eyes, he thought.  There is something about the eyes that does not seem correct.
     As he moved the blanket to look at the rest of the body, red and blue lights flashed through the windows.  The police were outside, probably finishing their investigation.  He had to get out.
     Vladimir took the mummy tucked in the blanket and snuck out the back before the police found him.
     Back home, Vladimir set the child on his sofa and looked out the window for police activity.  They walked around the old woman's house, flashlights blazing the yard in a sweeping motion, looking for what, only God knew.
     A knock came at the front door.  With a start, he closed the drapes, and quick-stepped toward the rap.  He opened the door to the investigating officer, who bullied into the house in search of "stolen" electrical cable.  The authorities discovered the child in Vladimir's possession, arrested him, and confiscated the child.
     Some time later, local medical examiners inspected the mummified child and determined that it was neither human nor animal, and concluded it was an unknown life form.
     Three years later, Tamara's illness had gotten worse.  Worry and despair weighed heavily on her, but an opportunity arose and she found an escape from the institution.  Finally, she was free to find her child and take care of him.  That's all she had ever wanted:  her son.  She ran as fast as her withered body could take her and tried to flag down a vehicle.  But she wandered too far out onto the busy highway and met her demise underneath the tires of an 18-wheeler.