“Fore we knowed who done it, de sheriff an some more men jump down from de loft, where dey bean hidin an tell us quit hollerin an doan be scairt.  Dis man be a bad deeper—­you know, one o’ them outlaws what kills folks.  He some kinda foreigner, an jes tryin make blieve he a niggah, so’s they don’t find him.

“Wall we didn’t feel like playin no more games, an f’ever after dat you coundn’t git no niggahs to pass dat house alone atter dark.  Dey say da place was hanted, an if you look through de winder any dark night you could see a man in dere spinnin de plate.

“I sho didn’t never look in, cause I done seen more hants aready dan I ever wants to see agin.  One night I was goin to my granny’s house.  It was jes comin dark, an when I got to de crick an start across on de foot-log, dere on de other end o’ dat log was a man wid his haid cut off an layin plum over on his shoulder.  He look at me, kinda pitiful, an don’t say a word—­but I closely never waited to see what he gonna talk about.  I pure flew back home.  I was so scairt I couldn’t tell de folks what done happened till I set down an get my breath.

“Nother time, not so long ago, when I live down in Gary, I be walkin down de railroad track soon in de mornin an fore I knowed it, dere was a white man walkin long side o’ me.  I jes thought it were somebody, but I wadn’t sho, so I turn off at de fust street to git way from dere.  De nex mawnin I be boin[TR:  goin?] to work at de same time.  It were kinda foggy an dark, so I never seen nobody till I mighty nigh run into dis same man, an dere he goes, bout half a step ahead o’ me, his two hands restin on his be-hind.

“I was so close up to him I could see him plain as I see you.  He had fingernails dat long, all cleaned an polished.  He was tull, an had on a derby hat, an stylish black clothes.  When I walk slow he slow down, an when I stop, he stop, never oncet lookin roun.  My feets make a noise on de cinders tween de rails, but he doan make a mite o’ noise.  Dat was de fust thing got me scairt, but I figger I better find out for sho ifen he be a sperrit; so I say, gook an loud:  ’Lookee here, Mister, I jez an old colored woman, an I knows my place, an I wisht you wouldn’t walk wid me counta what folks might say.’

“He never looked roun no moren if I wan’t there, an I cut my eyes roun to see if there is somebody I can holler to for help.  When I looked back he was gone; gone, like dat, without makin a sound.  Den I knowed he be a hant, an de nex day when I tell somebody bout it dey say he be de genman what got killed at de crossin a spell back, an other folks has seen him jus like I did.  Dey say dey can hear babies cryin at de trestle right near dere, an ain’t nobody yit ever found em.

“Dat ain de ony hant I ever seen.  One day I go out to de smokehouse to git a mess o’ taters.  It was after sundown, but still purty light.  When I gits dere de door be unlocked an a big man standin half inside.  ’What you doin stealin our taters!’ I hollers at him, an pow!  He gone, jes like dat.  Did I git back to dat house!  We mighty glad to eat grits an cornbread dat night.