MISSISSIPPI GOTHIC - A Substack Original - Supernatural Southern Gothic Horror

Chapter Nine. MISSISSIPPI GOTHIC: A Substack Original Supernatural Southern Gothic Horror.

Small ghost town. Hidden secrets. Demons. Fallen angels. Root magic. And a woman who can see ghosts— Now forced to stop a crazed pastor from awakening a god.

Aug 13, 2025

Before you get started: I want to say thank you for joining me on my “Watch Me Draft a Novel” series. If you want to know more about the story I am drafting, check out this post here: Trigger Warnings. There you will find the introduction, glossary, inspiration photos, and trigger warnings. (please see the trigger warnings before reading) I want to add that this series is an 18+ adult fiction with spice. Enjoy.

Socials: @authoreanoble | E.A. Noble

Chapter 9

No need to run. No need to scream.

We pulled into a parking spot at the end of the most jank-ass laundromat I have ever seen. Yellow lights flickered on and off inside, casting half-shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. A man stood folding his laundry. He wore black denim jeans and a stained undershirt that had clearly been through hell. There was a hole wide enough to show one of his surprisingly dark nipples. His head looked like a pink ass eraser. As if he heard me, his eyes swiveled to our car. He had a snout. Like a pig. It flared, dripping snot.

What the hell? I adjusted my glasses.

He wiped his nose with the hem of his filthy shirt. When he let go, his nose was normal. Slightly big, but normal. I blink rapidly.

“Did you see that?” I asked Jamie, but he was applying his third coat of lip gloss in the rear view mirror.

I scanned the parking lot. There were cars everywhere: Impalas, Hondas, Nissans, pick-up trucks, and some expensive vehicles with tinted windows that probably were illegal. It looked like a club parking lot, but there was no loud music thumping, no flashing lights, and nobody crowded in their prospective clicks. There weren’t even houses on the corners, just more abandoned buildings and cracked concrete pavement split open by the earth.

Jamie switched off the engine of his 1989 Cadillac Sedan Deiville, customized bubble-gum pink with chrome wheels. I knew for a fact he wasn’t parking in no sus neighborhood. But this place was creepy. Even the moon appeared closer here, hanging low, like it was about to fall from the sky.

I clung to my teddy-bear shaped backpack. “Where are we?”

“Do you trust me?” Jamie dug in his purse, pulling out mascara.

I turned to the only living thing here, the laundromat. Even at the end of the parking lot, I could hear the flickering light buzz like flies being zapped. “For the most part, yes. But for this part,” — I pointed at the washer and dryer — “No, absolutely not.”

Jamie flashed a coy smile and tucked invisible strands of hair behind his ear. “Ye of little faith,” He said, zipping up his purse. “Follow me, bish.”

I eased out of the vehicle, putting my bookbag in the front instead of on the back. Praying to baby Jesus nobody pops out and robs us. I could do ghosts, conjure them away, no problem. But being held at gunpoint? Not my level of expertise.

The night air stroked my skin like ice cold fingers. One single dying street light dimmed toward the far middle of the parking lot, toward the street, had caught my attention. I rubbed heat into my arms, but goosebumps still rose on my neck. I exhaled and my breath formed into a puffy white cloud.

I couldn’t have one night out without seeing ghosts. I told Jamie we needed to wear salt bags, but no, where we’re going we won’t need them, he had said. I regret not listening to myself.

The street light snapped off, then switched on. Underneath a figure formed, first like dust in wind, then like a sheet on a clothes line. It was dressed in a dirty brown potato sack dress. Black hair spilled down to its bare feet.

You know, why was it always creepy ghosts that manifest. Why couldn’t it ever be a fine ass ghost, with abs, and maybe a few scar marks, but just for the sexy experience? No, it’s never super models, or fine shit. It’s always a spirit that never knows how to just stay dead.

I could see right through this one. This could only mean one thing, this ghost died recently and hasn’t yet learned how to form its body.

Jamie tapped my shoulders.

I jumped, a slight squeal leapt out my throat.

“Don’t acknowledge them and they won’t acknowledge you,” he said, pulling me through the parking lot and to the door. Jamie couldn’t see ghost. In rare cases, he can sense something else there, but he never truly knew how I felt. It’s easy for him to say, just ignore them. Pretend they weren’t real, lie to myself. I’ve tried that several times until one day, the pressure of wandering spirits asking for release, begging to be crossed, crushed my chest so hard that I ended up in the hospital for three days for what the doctor labeled a panic attack.

So, no. I don’t ignore them. I judge to see if they were the ones who needed crossing, and I cross them. Give them the relief they so desperately need until the next one pops up.

I turned back to the ghost to see if I could cross it before going inside. The ghost had doubled in size. Black holes where two eyes should have been, pus boiled blue. It opened its mouth, oily goo bubbled and popped, pouring out onto its chin, then dripping to its dirt-stained clothing. When the gooey-pus hit the concrete, the concrete sizzled. The spirit blinked out of existence. The street lamp light clicked off. When it turned back on, the spirit popped up twelve feet from me.

A scream was trapped in my throat. I jumped, stumbling into Jamie.

“What?” He said, pulling out pepper spray. “What do you see?”

“I’m not sure, but walk faster.” I grabbed Jamie’s arm this time, dragging him to the door.

The ghost mouth cracked open wider. Its chin dislocated until the jawline touched its chest. A river of black liquid poured from its mouth. There was a gurgling sound as if it was trying to speak. The ghost choked and spat large lumps of leaves, branches, and rocks like a cat hacking up a furball. The street light snapped off. It disappeared. Street light snapped on. It was in front of me. It’s hand reaching for my throat.

I reacted instinctively, pivoting, taking off in a sprint to the door. Jamie was right beside me, not asking no questions, clinging tight to his purse strap on his shoulder.

“Get in, get in!” I said, yanking open the laundry’s door. I shoved up behind him, snapping the door shut behind me. A translucent palm print slapped against the window.

Don’t acknowledge them and they won’t acknowledge me. Yeah, the fuck, right.

Jamie straightened his wide brimmed hat. “Don’t worry. I think the inside of this place is protected.”

The very very pink man in black jeans paused, folding his laundry, and gawked at us.

“What?” Jamie cocked his head.

The man gave a lazy shrug and returned to folding his clothes.

The ghost was gone. The street light was on, and steady. I bent over, resting my palms on my knees and took deep breaths.

I should have brought my salt. Why didn’t I bring my damn salt! When I couldn’t say a conjure fast enough, salt was the next best thing.

Jamie whoosahed before quickly strutting over to an empty counter toward the back of the laundromat. I was right beside him, watching him tap a painted black fingernail on the front desk bell. There was a vending machine, a few shelves with washing supplies, and an old school TV playing on mute.

“Hello?” he shouted as he tapped, tapped, tapped, the bell.

“Jamison Billyard Seneca,” a deep hissing voice spoke as if right in front of us. I scanned for the owner, but the only person I saw was the pink man folding his laundry at the opposite side.

Jamie's mouth gaped open. “First off, it’s just Jamie. Never, ever call me by my government name. You don't know who’s listening.”

I couldn’t tell if the voice was hissing or the speaker had some combination of a lisp. “Oh, please. The crossroads are just as safe as they have always been,” he said.

I tugged at Jamie’s arm. “Crossroads? You took me to a crossroad?”

The voice answered before Jamie could. “Yes, he did, Ahunni Marie Seneca. It is a delight to finally meet you.” The vending machine swung open like a door. A swirling light spilled out as a man stepped through in the flyest zoot suit I’ve ever seen. I giggled, not expecting to see a short man in a full red suit with black stripes and a hat with a long feather to match.

He leaned over on the counter and held out his hand to me. “Mi amor, do you like what you see?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.” He was definitely a demon. A cute demon, snake eyes, a thin curling split tongue that licked the air as if tasting it. He had a baby face, but I could tell he knew exactly what he was doing. And took ‘on demon time’ literally. Overall, keep the coochie in check. One supernatural heart throb was enough. I glanced over at Jamie who was slightly tapping his foot and rolling his eyes. The demon leaned down, flipped the back of my hand, and kissed the back. When he looked up, his eyes blinked vertically.

“What type of crossroad demon are you?” I shimmied my hand away from his.

“Oh, bonita, I’m just your friendly local crossroad demon. Here to guide you, direct you, or please you, if you so wish.” He blinked again, but now I’m thinking he was actually winking at me.

Could snake eyes wink? I shivered at the thought. Granny told me there were many crossroad demons. Some required a deal in exchange for a soul. Some made love to a person until they’re nothing but hollow shells of the person they once were. And other crossroad demons, where just that, crossroad demons, their skills were to teleport people from one dimension or liminal space to the next.

“When did crossroad demons stop meeting people at actual crossed roads?”

“What do you mean? These are new times, Bonita. And new times cause new methods. Some of us are still traditionalists, but my rule is, move when time moves.” Every s was a hiss. “The trick,” he said, pointing at the compass engrained in the wood above the vending machine, “is going where the veil is thin.” The arrows pointed north, south, east, and west, but it also had another arrow, like a short hand of a clock, that shifted. “Wherever you find that symbol, there I will be to gladly guide you to the other side. Deal?” He reached out his long brown fingers.

His gaze was intoxicating. I rocked on my toes, feeling myself float, just slightly, enough to be pulled in. I reached out my hand to shake with his.

Jamie slapped the shit out of my palm, snapping me back to reality.

“Oww!” I whined.

“Bish, we don’t shake hands with demons. Have you lost your back-water-ass mind?” Jamie held out a long black glittering fingernail to the demon. “Now are you gonna do your job or continue to stand there like a topper on a child’s birthday cake?”

“Gordito, don’t worry. I got you.” The demon walked backwards into the vending machine, with a playful smirk on his lips, then disappeared.

Jamie turned to me. “Did he just call me fat?”

I think so, I sneakered.

“That shit ain’t funny.” Jamie pushed my shoulders.

The demon reentered. “Okay, all set. Money?”

Jamie reached into his purse and fished out a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Add two dryer sheets to the entrance fee, please.”

“My pleasure.” The demon hissed. He plucked the bill from Jamie’s hand and tucked it into his pocket. He closed the vending machine, hit A3, and out tumbled a pack of dryer sheets. “Aqui.” The demon handed over the box.

Jamie snatched it from his hand.

The demon clicked his tongue. He raised one pointer finger in the air. The nail grew to a sharp fine point. “The back of your hand, Jamison.”

Jamie smacked his lips. “It’s Jamie, to you!”

The demon hissed. “Jamie.” Then snatched Jamie’s hand, switching it to the black side. He used his nail to prick Jamie’s skin. A dot of blood bubbled then spread out along his hand in the shape of the compass.

“You’re in. If you do not return before 3 a.m. then you’ll have to stay until the veil opens again.”

Jamie shook his hand as if he could shake off the compass that had absorbed into his skin. “I’ve been here before. 3, 6, 9, 12. The magic hours. I got it.”

The demon turned to me. “Your turn, bonita.”

I glanced at Jamie. He waved his hand nonchalantly. “I didn’t catch your name,” I said, handing my hand to him, palm down.

“Because I didn’t throw it to you. A name, Ahunni, is extremely sacred.”

“So, how do you know mine?”

“I make it my business to know every powerful child of the night.”

“Me, powerful child of the night?”

The demon took my hand and held it tight. “Absolutely,” he pricked my skin.

“Ouch.” I yanked my hand back, watching my blood spread into a compass. It mostly didn’t hurt. It felt like a soft pinch. Once completed the compass melted into my flesh.

“If ever you’re lost. Just tap the back of your hand, it will guide you to the nearest crossroad.” The demon winked or maybe this time it was a blink. I couldn’t tell.

“Then what should I call you?” I asked.

“Rojo,” he said, opening the countertop.

Jamie and I shuffled in. Rojo locked the countertop behind us. Rojo shimmied to the vending machine and opened it. The bright swirls of light were now pure pitch black. “Have fun, Senecas.” A long purple tongue uncurled from Rojo’s mouth.

“Chile let’s go.” Jamie grabbed my arm, and led me into the dark.

Chapter Question: Help settle this debate. Do y’all say laundry mat or laundromat? I first had it as laundry mat, but one of my readers said that was wrong, so I put laundromat instead.

Chapter Nine’s Song: Crossroad by Robert Johnson

I mean, how can I talk about crossroad demons without adding the OG Robert Johnson to the music list? Legend has it, old Robert sold his soul to the devil at a crossroads in exchange for musical talent.

And a legend he became. If you read this far. Bonus chapter question: What would be the one thing you would sell your soul for at the crossroads?

Schedule Release & Author Commentary:

Chapter ten releases August 20th.
I barely edited this chapter. Sorry for all the awkward sentences and misspellings. I didn’t have time to line edit the way I wanted to. Some things could be stronger and I think it’s missing some much necessary tension and creep factor. I think I could have done a lot more with this chapter. But hey, I did my best.
Also, you want to be here for chapter ten. At the end of that chapter, you can vote for the character art you want to see. I already finished with Wraph-el, and his art will be revealed in chapters 12 and 13! *hint hint* He will be returning.

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