He found a spot on the floor and brusquely cushioned the burden in it.
He was edgy, unstrung; he could not sleep. He tossed, half-awake, tortured by the night's fairy-like happenings.
As a boy at Arise the old man'd tell of fresh-born Negro babes dropped in eely wells in remote parts of the plantation jungle or wrapped in crocus bags and left in the canes for some ferocious sow to gnaw or rout.
Rapacious Negro ghosts—"men in the canes"—ha! ha! preying upon the fears of the uncivilized blacks.
Fire hags! St. Lucia mulatto sluts—changing their skins—turning to goats—sheep-prowling—going forth—
And weirdly interchangeable—Black Negro babes and vampire bats!
All night the fussy mare, with glassy eyes glued on the buckra hut, refused to touch corn or oats—stamping, kicking, growing uneasy.