Ghosts What Ain't

I wrote a story once about a little black boy whose name was Mose, and one Halloween he had just about the awfulest time any little black boy ever had in this world. There was a party at the cabin and his mammy sent him to get a pumpkin, to make a jack-o’-lantern. It was a mighty dark night and the little black boy had to go past the graveyard and through the wood and down the hollow, and when he reached the pumpkin patch he was scared almost white. He reached down to grab a pumpkin, and a great big headless ghost shouted at him to drop it — that it was his head. Little black Mose was so scared the ghost was sorry for him and gave him some sound, comforting advice: “Don’t you ever be afraid of ghosts,” the ghost told him, “because there ain’t no ghosts.” So little black Mose started home and he picked up a stick. “Leggo that; that’s my leg!” an awful ghost voice said, and then that ghost told little black Mose the same thing: “Don’t you ever be scared of ghosts,” that ghost said; “’cause there ain’t no ghosts.” And presently, when he was going past the graveyard, he met all the ghosts in the world, holding a convention. There were millions of them, and every one told little black Mose the same thing: “Dey ain’t no ghosts!” When little black Mose got back to the cabin, he was so scared he was blue-white, and everybody at the party told him he was a foolish little black Mose to be scared of ghosts, because, they told him: “Dey ain’t no ghosts!” Little black Mose allowed they were right, but when it came time to go to bed he just hung around and hung around and didn’t want to go up there in the dark.