“When we livin at Titusville, I see my old mammy comin up de road jus as plain as day.  I stan on de porch, fixin to run an meet her, when all of a sudden she be gone.  I begin to cry an tell de folks I ain’t gonna see my mammy agin.  An sho nuff, I never did.  She die at Sanderson, back in West Florida, fore I got to see her.

“Does I blieve in witches?  S-a-a-y, I knows more bout em den to jes ’blieve’—­I been rid by em.  Right here in dis house.  You ain never been rid by a witch?  Well, you mighty lucky.  Dey come in de night, ginnerly soon after you drop off to sleep.  Dey put a bridle on your head, an a bit in your mouth, an a saddle on your back.  Den dey take off their skin an hang it up on de wall.  Den dey git on you an some nights dey like to ride you to death.  You try to holler but you kaint, counta the iron bit in your mouth, an you feel like somebody holdin you down.  Den dey ride you back home an into your bed.  When you hit de bed you jump an grab de kivers, an de witch be gone, like dat.  But you know you been rid mighty hard, cause you all wet wid sweat, an you feel plum tired out.

“Some folks say you jus been dreamin, counta de blood stop circulatin in yaur back.  Shucks!  Dey ain never been rid by a witch, or dey ain sayin dat.

“Old witch docter, he want ten dollers for a piece of string, what he say some kinda charm words over.  Tells me to make a image o’ dat old witch outa dough, an tie dat string roun its neck; den when I bake it in de oven, it swell up an de magic string shet off her breath.  I didn’t have no ten dollar, so he say ifen I git up five dollar he make me a hand—­you know, what collored folks cals a jack.  Dat be a charm what will keep de witches away.  I knows how to make em, but day doan do no good thout de magic words, an I doan know dem.  You take a little pinch o’ dried snake skin an some graveyard dirt, an some red pepper an a lock o’ your hair wrapped roun some black rooster feathers.  Den you spit whiskey on em an wrap em in red flannel an sew if into a ball bout dat big.  Den you hang it under your right armpit, an ever week you give it a drink o’ whiskey, to keep it strong an powful.

“Dat keep de witches fum ridin you; but nary one o’ dese charms work wid dis old witch.  I got a purty good idee who she is, an she got a charm powfuller dan both of dem.  But she kaint git acrosst flaxseed, not till she count ever seed.  You doan blieve dat?  Huh!  I reckon I knows—­I done tried it out.  I gits me a lil bag o’ pure fresh flaxseed, an I sprinkle it all roun de bed; den I put some on top of da mattress, an under de sheet.  Den I goes to bed an sleeps like a baby, an dat old witch doan bother me no more.

“Ony oncet.  Soon’s I wake up, I light me a lamp an look on de floor an dere, side o’ my bed was my dress, layin right over dat flaxseed, so’s she could walk over on de dress, big as life.  I snatch up de dress an throw it an de bed; den I go to sleep, an I ain never been bothered no more.