He walked along the side of the house towards the back, and as he neared the back he head a humming sound.  The further he went the louder it grew.  It was something like the hum of a mill, only not so metallic and not so loud; and it came from the rear of the house.

Hatteras turned the corner and what he saw was this—­a shuttered window and a cloud of flies.  The flies were not aimlessly swarming outside the window; they streamed in through the lattices of the shutters in a busy practical way; they came in columns from the forest and converged upon the shutters; and the hum sounded from within the room.

Hatteras looked about for a Kru boy just for the sake of company, but, at that moment there was not one to be seen.  He felt the cold strike at his spine, he went back to the room in which he had been sitting.  He sat again, but he sat shivering.  The agent had left no work for him....  The Kru boys had been anxious to explain something.  The humming of the flies about that shuttered window seemed to Hatteras to have more explicit language than the Kru boys’ chatterings.  He penetrated into the interior of the house, and reckoned up the doors.  He opened one of them ever so slightly, and the buzzing came through like the hum of a wheel in a factory, revolving in the collar of a strap.  He flung the door open and stood upon the threshold.  The atmosphere of the room appalled him; he felt the sweat break cold upon his forehead and a deadly sickness in all his body.  Then he nerved himself to enter.

At first he saw little because of the gloom.  In a moment, however, he made out a bed stretched along the wall and a thing stretched upon the bed.  The thing was more or less shapeless because it was covered with a black, furry sort of rug.  Hatteras, however, had little trouble in defining it.  He knew now for certain what it was that the Kru boys had been so anxious to explain to him.  He approached the bed and bent over it, and as he bent over it the horrible thing occurred which left so vivid an impression on Hatteras.  The black, furry rug suddenly lifted itself from the bed, beat about Hatteras’ face, and dissolved into flies.  The Kru boys found Hatteras in a dead swoon on the floor half-an-hour later, and next day, of course, he was down with the fever.  The agent had died of it three days before.

Hatteras recovered from the fever, but not from the impression.  It left him with a prevailing sense of horror and, at first, with a sense of disgust too.  “It’s a damned obscene country,” he would say.  But he stayed in it, for he had no choice.  All the money which he could save went to the support of his family, and for six years the firm he served moved him from district to district, from factory to factory.