The hammer struck again and again. Over the rhythmic cadence, the cry of an eagle announced dinner time. The bird flew in wide circles over Mr. Trent's property around 7pm sharp. That's when he came out and threw big chunks of meat in the air for the eagle to catch. When satisfied, the eagle flew away to return the next day.
Where Mr. Trent got the meat was a complete mystery to his neighbor Peter. Mr. Trent had no cattle, no poultry, he never left his property, where he lived with his wife, and no one ever dropped by.
One day, as Peter heard the hammer strike once again, right before 7pm, he ventured next door. He jumped over the wooden fence easily and walked as silently as he could towards the barn where the hammering sound came from.
He slid close to the walls, only to see Mr. Trent hitting a few frozen chunks of meat to separate them. He drew closer. Mr. Trent hammered and hammered.
Much to Peter's horror, one of the bits got separated and hit the ground. It was a hand.
And that was the last thing Peter saw.
"Elyse, please, again?" Mr. Trent complained. "We have no room left."
Mrs. Trent, a nocturnal woman taken to unusual habits, smiled.
"I just couldn't resist, dear. Normally, I have to ride so far away and carry them here. This one was so... handy!"