WEST CAPE MAY — It’s a dark winter night and the park is empty. Or ... is it?
Suddenly, movement. Yes, somebody slinking through the entrance gate, armed with long metal spikes of some sort. They’re pulling something out of a pouch. It looks like a ball of some sort, kind of like a ball of yarn, pink yarn. Before long another tree, signpost or lamp standard is covered with brightly colored yarn.
Yes, the midnight knitter has struck again.
And officials are stumped again.
The midnight knitter (or knitters) remains at large.
I can see the sobbing relatives on the courthouse steps, "It seemed so harmless at first when Grandma went on the crochet. When she and her friends started hanging around the yarn store, we were just happy she was getting out. We had no idea...."