I saw this news while eating a salad and sandwiches that I bought at a food stall. That's what office job does to you- I was too lazy to go to the canteen, although it is just a ten minute walk from our building. Instead, I buy at the food stall on the ground floor questionable looking salads and even more questionable sandwiches.
I take them up to the fourth floor, where I eat my lunch staring at the computer monitor. But my colleagues are even worse, because instead of salads they buy "main dishes" from the same food stall.
"In Khakassia on the river bank they found a third in recent months severed hand. All hands are right hands, and belonged to men. The police noted that the link between the three findings has not been established yet. The identities of the people to whom the severed hands belong have also not yet been established. Locals suggest that the hands may belong to the victims of organized crime. It is reported that ... "
I did not keep reading. I closed the news site, threw the leftovers into trash can and took out cigarettes from my desk drawer. Musmal returned. And apparently, he wants to eat again!
***
This story happened a long time ago. I was still in high school and lived in a small village in Khakassia. That summer my parents went on a long business trip, and the whole summer break I spent with my grandfather. I did not complain. I liked spending time with my grandfather: he told me different stories, sometimes took me with him into the woods to pick mushrooms and berries. In addition, in the morning I was allowed to sleep as long as I wanted, and in the evening I could stay up late. I could watch old black-and-white TV until late at night, or play in the backyard of our little crooked house. That ill-fated summer I met Musmal. And lost my grandfather. This happened all on the same day.
The first hand was found by a local fisherman when in the morning he went to prepare his boat for rafting on the Abakan river. The severed hand was floating in a small creek where fishermen usually left their little boats. It was rocked by the water banging with its cold knuckles on the side of the boat. Bang! Bang! Bang! As if asking to take it on board. It was the right hand.
A few days later some kids went swimming at the dam. One of them nearly drowned from getting scared when he saw in the water another hand. Its fingers were tightly clenched and only an index finger was sticking out. When the finger popped out of the water and pointed directly at the boy, he screamed so loudly that half the village came running. Parents grabbed their children and took them home, and strictly forbade them to go swimming. And then hand was sent to the regional center for forensic examination. Later it turned out that it belonged to a shepherd from Tashtypsky region.
When the sixth hand was washed ashore, although not in our village but in the neighboring one, my grandfather started packing. For half a day he disappeared somewhere in the village, and after returning home, he began packing his backpack.
— Grandfather, where are you going?
—I have an important business to attend to. Musmal is hungry and he got out of his hole, so I need to calm him down.
— Who is Musmal?
— It is an evil spirit, dear. Ancient Khakassian spirit.
— Grandpa, did Musmal eat those people whose hands were found in the river?
— Yes, it is him. Okay, while I still have time, let me tell you about him. Sit down beside me.
He lit a handmade cigarette and began his story. We were sitting on the porch, the sun was setting, and there was silence over the village which was broken only by the occasional barking of dogs and the sound of wind in the trees. I watched how the light of grandpa’s cigarette was twinkling and listened attentively.
