He retraced his steps for about ten minutes and found his knife. “Oh thank goodness!” he exclaimed. But there was something strange. When the knife had been in his pocket all the blades were closed. They were folded away. And now the largest blade was fully open. A knife cannot open itself. Someone must have picked the knife up, opened it, and dropped it again.
Not to worry. The hunter returned to where he had killed the hare. The hare was still there but fully skinned and gutted.
“Is there anybody there?” called the hunter. There was silence. The clearing in the bush had an eerie quality to it. Leaving the hare the hunter headed for home.
“I’m getting the hell out of here,” he said to himself. “It’s spooky. I won’t be camping here tonight.”
Three days later his wife called the police. Her husband had not returned from his hunting trip. He was two days overdue. But his bow and arrows and his hunting knife were where they usually were. And there was a skinned and gutted hare on the kitchen bench.
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