In March, 1802, a child of Jonathan White’s, Southgate, Chichester, about six months old, had a small double-bladed knife, nearly two inches and a half in length, given it to play with in the cradle. The infant swallowed it, and, as may be supposed, soon became uneasy in its stomach, though otherwise healthy. On the 24th of May, the shortest blade was discharged by the bowels; the back of it was very much corroded, its edges ragged, uneven, and saw-like; the rivet was entirely dissolved. On the 16th of June, after more than usual uneasiness, and the rejection of food, the child vomited one side of the horn handle, very much softened, and bent double; a small bit of iron passed a few days after; and on the 24th of July, another bit of a wedge-like shape, much corroded, and full of holes, and, apparently, the large blade. The child was now much emaciated, the faeces blackish, and the abdomen inflamed externally. On the 11th of August, the back of the knife, and soon after, the other side of the horn handle, were vomited; and the infant, thereafter, recovered entirely. This case, fully authenticated, has been published.

— Literary Gazette, July 11, 1818

Son of a U.S. vice president, Michael Rockefeller shunned the easy life and sought adventure in New Guinea.

Apparently he found it. In November 1961 he and an anthropologist were three miles from shore when their pontoon boat overturned. After drifting for some time, Rockefeller told his companion, “I think I can make it” and swam for shore.

He was never seen again.

Russian spell to invoke a werewolf, cited in The Book of Werewolves (1865) by Sabine Baring-Gould:

He who desires to become an oboroten, let him seek in the forest a hewn-down tree; let him stab it with a small copper knife, and walk round the tree, repeating the following incantation:

On the sea, on the ocean, on the island, on Bujan,
On the empty pasture gleams the moon, on an ashstock lying
In a green wood, in a gloomy vale.
Towards the stock wandereth a shaggy wolf,
Horned cattle seeking for his sharp white fangs;
But the wolf enters not the forest,
But the wolf dives not into the shadowy vale,
Moon, moon, gold-horned moon,
Check the flight of bullets, blunt the hunters’ knives,
Break the shepherds’ cudgels,
Cast wild fear upon all cattle,
On men, all creeping things,
That they may not catch the grey wolf,
That they may not rend his warm skin!
My word is binding, more binding than sleep,
More binding than the promise of a hero!

Then he springs thrice over the tree and runs into the forest, transformed into a wolf.

“A gentleman,” said Lana Turner, “is simply a patient wolf.”