A spectre is haunting Stavanger Golf Club, a spectre which has been defecating into specific holes on the course.
Groundskeeper Kenneth Tennfjord has complained that the Norwegian location he tends is being terrorised by someone "who, for unknown reasons, hates the game of golf. Alternatively, the person may have a fetish or suffer from mental problems."
"He has a couple of favorite holes," Tennfjord reportedly added, speaking to the Rogaland Avis newspaper, and "we know it is a man because the poos are too massive to be from a woman".
The aggressive defecation began back in 2005, when the club's personnel first discovered gleaming turds in the course's holes. Tennfjord remembers these deposits with something akin to pride, and ruminated upon the quality of the turds of those halcyon days.
"The stools were initially fairly hard," he reminisced, "but the texture has changed. Either the person has begun to use laxatives, or their diet is not the best."
While regretting the diminishing quality of the poopertrator's nocturnal gifts, Tennfjord appreciates that they have so far continued to come wrapped. "They always carry toilet paper," the groundskeeper said, "but then they leave it alongside the feces".
The stink has been an ongoing concern for the managing director of the course, Steinar Floisvik.
Sleuthing over the grounds himself, and tracking the duplicitous dumper's path for any nuggets of evidence that may have been inadvertently dropped, Floisvik noted that he appears to arrive on a bicycle.
Floisvik said that "in the early morning dew we observed bicycle tracks on the course. Footsteps showed that he had done his business, and the bicycle tracks disappeared back the way they came".
The club is yet to file a police report, and an application to put up surveillance cameras has been denied. An unnecessary-to-license automatic spotlight system has previously been purchased, with the intention of blasting high-powered beams and reveal the turd-gifting maniac when he approached.
Unfortunately, with cat-burglar like skills, the man "climbed up a tree next to the lights and wriggled far out on a branch and dismantled the spotlights."
"How he managed the feat without electrocuting himself or falling is a riddle," said Frode Jormeland, another groundskeeper at the club.
The phantom of feculence is yet to be found. ®