Grandma's Pouch

I always wondered what was in grandma's pouch. She never seemed to be without it, attached to a belt around her waist. It was rather small, a fine leather accessory. I assumed something very valuable was in there. As a child, when we hugged my head would come right up to it. I'd turn sideways and my ear would pick up faint sounds coming from inside. A soft moaning.
Grandma was a tall, stocky woman and I was too intimidated to ask her about it. At night I would lie in bed, haunted by the image of something being trapped in that pouch. I never thought of her as a cruel woman. She was always nice to me. Except that one time. She was baby sitting me and for some reason left the pouch on the kitchen table while she was in the bathroom.
I stared at it and I swear it moved just a bit. I heard that same moaning. Unable to control myself, I began to unzip it. Just then the bathroom door opened and our eyes met. She made a sound like a wolf protecting her babies. She pushed me away and practically pinned me against the wall. A stern lecture on minding my business ensued. Never touch what doesn't belong to me. Her eyes practically turned opaque.
Years passed. I grew up. We found grandma on the floor. Stroke. We buried her this morning. Back at her house, with a few dozen friends and family downstairs at the repast, I stayed up in her bedroom, going through her things. The pouch wasn't on her when she was found. Just as I was becoming frustrated, I spotted it high up in her closet, behind a hat box.
The pouch was pulsing.
I had to open it, consequences be damned. Carefully I unzipped the soft leather. What confronted me completely changed my opinion of grandma. If indeed, that was what she was.