MISSISSIPPI GOTHIC - A Substack Original - Supernatural Southern Gothic Horror

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

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.

Apr 24, 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

Devil gon’ shout! Devil gon’ praise!

Death followed my family like a flock of vultures on a dead man living. I sighed watching my auntie Niecy rise from the brown pews of Saint New Mission Church. Her black lace veil matched her black lace dress. Open toe kitten heels ambled up the red carpet stapled to the aisle leading to the pulpit steps. Grandma sat next to me, her church fan had the face of my dead uncle, Revvy, on it. His smile crinkled in between the folds as she fanned away the heat of the Mississippi summer sun. Funny how life was summarized in an 8 x 11 obituary.

Our pastor Davis–dark skinned man, bald, tall–was leaving to head upstate to be the head of some mega church. Taking up the pulpit in his stead was a white preacher named Jacobs–nobody knew nothing about him. His features were young, but his eyes were old. Almost like he wore a mask. His skin stretched just enough for him to pass as approachable. Dark hair and unassuming. He stepped out of the way, welcoming auntie Niecy to the front.

My phone vibrated. Unlocking the screen, I read a new text from my cousin Jamie.

Jamie: Ahunni, bish. You see auntie!

Me: Yes, Jamie. I’m looking right at her.

Jamie: Why she come to her brother’s funeral looking like a burnt can of busted biscuits?

Me: Chiiiilllleee.

Jamie: And look at that so-called, “beat,” bish. Tell me why the foundation on her face and her natural-ass neck are about to square up!

Me: 😭 “crying face emoji”

Jamie: She bet not act a damn fool in this building!

I forced a smile away from my lips as I glanced toward auntie Niecy right as she stepped onto the pulpit and snatched the mic from the new pastor. Smudged red lipstick stained her crooked front teeth. With her free hand, she pulled out a white handkerchief from between her titties and dabbed non-existent tears. The sculpted white Jesus, hanging on the crossed behind her, mourned the sight with red tears.

Quickly typing I texted…

Me: Too fucking late.

The microphone scratched causing a collective “ooh” to come from the crowd.

Niecy sobbed into the mic.

“Take ya time, baby!” A relative shouted from the pews.

Granny shifted next to me. She took her fan, laid it on her lap, then tucked her arms underneath her breasts. I could already tell grandma was preparing for the tom foolery my auntie was about to put on. I think the whole family braced themselves. The real entertainment was about to begin.

Auntie Niecy tapped the mic with ruby four-inch nails studded with matching rhinestones. “Hey everybody.” Her high-pitched voice cracked. “I sho’ hate that we had to be brought together under these circumstances.”

A couple of “Hmm-mmh.” rippled through the crowd.

Auntie wobbled over to a 30 x 40 canvas of my dead uncle, Revvy. Her claw fingernails grazed the surface. In the photo, my uncle was dressed in streetwear, fresh Jordans, his favorite snapback, and a pair of large white wings badly photoshopped onto his back as he crouched into the standard prison pose. Whoever did the graphics added a blue sky with baby powder clouds above him with a light that seemed to beam him to heaven.

My arms grew cold like the AC kicked on. Chill bumps prickled, fine hairs rose to attention, the air was thinner.

“Why did they put those ghetto ass wings on me? They couldn’t find another picture?” Unc Revvy said, plopping in the empty spot next to me.

I forced my face forward watching auntie cradle his canvas.

Unc tapped my shoulder, but his phantom fingers brushed through my skin making my entire left side shiver. One thing about ghosts, they don’t like to be ignored, especially when they knew I could see them.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach and watched auntie Niecy throw herself to the ground as she rolled down the pulpit steps. She howled like a wolf in the night as she kicked her heels off.

“It’s okay Niecy, baby! Let it out!” One relative shouted.

“You got it, Niecy.” Another person stood and yelled.

Auntie Niecy picked herself up from the rickety hardwood floor, crying. “My brother was everything to me! Revvy, I love you so much. God took you befor’ yo time!” Spit flew on the top of the microphone.

Uncle Revvy clicked his teeth. “Now, this muthafucka knows we ain’t close. All she ever wanted was money because her ain’t-shit baby daddies left.” He pulled a cigarette from his front coat pocket and put it into his mouth.

Could ghosts smoke? I’ve never seen a ghost smoke. I peeked at unc who was patting his black suit for a lighter.

“How the hell are they gonna bury me with a cig and forget the lighter?” He cursed.

It always surprised me how real ghosts could look once they’ve crossed over. Uncle Revvy was shot in the head, but that wasn’t what killed him. It was the bullet to the left anterior artery, also known as the widowmaker. Instant kill shot. As he sat next to me with a fresh high-top fade–smooth brown skin, I would have sworn we were at someone else’s funeral. Uncle Revvy was more like a big brother to me. Only thirteen years separated us, my nineteen to his thirty-two. Granny’s youngest baby. The family’s favorite. Gone.

I wanted to reach over and fix the collar of his dress shirt from sticking up, but I resisted. He was a new ghost, only died last week. New ghosts always made me nauseous when they passed through me. It was much like being seasick. Only difference was no pills could fix it.

Uncle Revvy swiveled his head to me and my heart skipped a beat. There was always one thing that let me know if the person was dead or alive, and that was their eyes. A socket of black holes like bottomless pits. His long lashes blinked at me.

I quickly turned away, pressing against the warmth of Granny as she nodded her head to a now singing auntie Niecy belting out ‘His Eye is on the Sparrow’. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose then toyed with the hem of my cotton dress as a distraction.

Unc floated closer. “Ahunni, so you’re really gonna ignore me the entire funeral, huh?”

Yes, unc. I am. One, how am I supposed to talk to you in front of everyone? People already think I’m the weirdo, the black sheep of the family. And two, what do you want me to say or do? You’re dead.

As if reading my mind, unc said, “Yea, aight. You still my favorite niece tho’.” He reached out his brown hand and hovered it on top of mine.

I was thankful for the gesture, he remembered how nauseous ghost contact made me feel. Revvy soul wasn’t cold. It was warm, like home. Like laughs on the front porch and bedtime stories under thick anime blankets. But that had always been Revvy. He made everyone feel as if they were the center of his world. I swallowed deeply. For the entire week he has been following me around because I was the only one who could see him. After today, I would have to officially cross him. A part of me, even though he wasn’t my first crossing, didn’t want to let him go. He was my uncle–my favorite uncle. No matter how much I’ve seen death–the surprise of a person being here, talking, walking, arguing with them, and then BAM in a split second–life vanished, I could never get used to it. Would never get used to it.

Grandma once said that’s the way of Seneca blood. Death would always follow our family like an old lover–a family friend.

Auntie Niecy hollered.

I whipped my head to the pulpit as she rolled her heavy ass to the church floor–again. Pastor Davis and a few other deacons ran to Niecy’s side. They tried lifting her off the ground, but she rolled across the floor as the men gave chase. Eventually, one man took a white sheet and flung it on top of Niecy as she screeched like a banshee. Her dress rode up her legs showing one whole in her stockings. Granny grunted, her large bejeweled church hat damn near knocking me upside my head.

“Damn shame,” Granny said, holding herself tighter, displeased.

“Got that right, Ma.” Uncle Revvy agreed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The church doors flew open. Light flooded in like an archangel descending. Auntie Niecy paused midroll. We all flipped in our seats to watch a newcomer strut in with a swollen belly and a baby on her hip.

The church was so quiet a penny could drop and it would sound like an explosion.

“What?” She smacked her gum. She had on the brightest yellow dress that displayed more titties than a stripper working a Tuesday dayshift. The woman also had plastic fire engine red hair. If she batted her eyelashes any faster they would fly off her face. The toddler on her hip wore a black suit two sizes too big.

“What the fuck is she doing here!”

I knew that voice. Meeka, Revvy’s wife.

“Oh shit.” Revvy said, frantically searching for that lighter in his pocket. The cigarette bounced between his lips.

The woman in the yellow dress shifted the baby boy on her hip to the other side. “Because I can be here. Rev is my baby daddy. And it’s fucked up that I didn’t receive an invite!”

“Baby momma who?” Another woman stood. Meeka’s sister, Stephanie.

Revvy’s wife waved a black leather gloved hand, “Somebody betta get this bitch outta here.”

“Before I do!” Stephanie, the sweet sister, took off her hoop earrings.

The woman in yellow clung to the scared toddler. “I’m not going nowhere! I loved him just like everybody up in here loved him.” She rubbed her belly.

Auntie Niecy climbed to her feet and stomped down from the altar. “Ain’t you Javon’s baby momma! The reason my brother is laying up here dead!”

Javon.

The best friend who pulled the trigger, silencing Revvy forever.

Could this get anymore messier?

“I ain’t got shit to do with that.” The woman in yellow said.

Meeka screamed, “Oh, you got everything to do with it! If it weren’t for yo’ hoe ass spreading your legs to every dick in town, then maybe your psycho ass baby daddy wouldn’t have snapped and killed my husband!”

Jealous rage.

It never failed. If I was given a dollar for every ghost that had died from Mississippi to North Carolina because of jealous rage, I would be rich.

“I wasn’t being no hoe. Javon and I broke up a year ago. What Revvy and I had was legit, on my baby.” The woman in yellow rubbed her belly.

“I don’t give a fuck what nobody says, that ain’t Revvy’s baby!” Stephanie pushed past Meeka, easing into the walkway.

“Pswf. pswf!” A call came from the other side of the pews.

I craned my neck passed granny to my cousin Jamie. He pointed at his rainbow encased phone and mouthed, “Ten thousand likes by sundown tomorrow.”

I shook my head. Revvy clung on to the cigarette as he paced. Granny damn near fainted.

Snatching the paper fan off granny’s lap, I fanned her as fast as I could.

Pastor Davis ran from the head of the church down to the aisle, throwing his arms up between the woman in yellow and Revvy’s wife and her sister. “Now listen, this is a house of God, not no fight club. Take this ratchetness outta here. Be gone, demon!”

The woman in yellow yelled, “Fuck you, ole-dusty-knee-ass wanna be pastor!”

And that set the entire church on fire.

Cousins, uncles, aunts, and friends erupted in shouts. Kids were crying, the elders were crossing their hearts and speaking in tongues. Jamie became a one-man camera crew, catching every angle he could, and auntie Niecy was down on the church floor a third damn time, rolling and crying, and carrying on.

The channels in my brain jammed. Everyone was too loud. I slammed my palms over my ears and rocked.

I couldn’t keep the ghost out.

Most days, I try to live in a bubble. A protective layer to keep the dead from wandering in. To stop them from stealing my energy. Draining me. Haunting me.

I inhaled through my nose and exhaled from my mouth. Wipe my brain of the static and focus on a single red dot in my mind. I clutched my necklace, the only thing my parents left me, and allowed the metal shaped heart to imprint in my palm to help calm my heart rate.

It wasn’t working.

Souls floated into the pews. Goosebumps prickled the length of my arm. I exhaled. White puff of smoke clouded in front of me. The temperature in the church dropped rapidly.

Revvy kneeled in front of me. “How can I help? What can I do?” He turned his hollow holes to take in the flood of souls drifting toward me. Like I was their beacon.

I blinked, squeezing my lids closed to focus on the red dot. When I opened my eyes again, the ghosts were a few feet away. These were old. Some were dressed in eighteenth century billowing skirts and headwraps. Some of the Black ghosts were in chains and others wore nothing at all. Hollow holes amongst pale and brown faces, searching for me.

“It’s too loud.” I said, bringing my chest to my knees as if that one action would cover me. “I can’t focus.”

Revvy placed his cigarette in his pocket. His eyebrows netted together.

A ghost pushed past him.

A white woman, extremely pale, pinned hair, ruffled blouse, and skirt, reached out her hand. Revvy attempted to pull the woman’s arm back, but she was far too old and Revvy was far too new. He froze as the woman tapped his chest then floated to me. I screamed as she took hold of my arm. Her touch was like frostbite. A kaleidoscope of her life flooded into me and my body went rigid. I shook in my seat as my eyes rolled in the sockets, flashes of her memories ran through my mind like a bullet train.

A scene stabilized. Late at night, moonlight filtered in through open curtains–her husband slapped her before leaving out of a bedroom door. The sting was a bee kiss on a swollen right cheek. The rage flared in the pit of her belly. The woman hissed, but instead of taking it out on her husband, she marched to a corner of the room where a Black woman was cowering. The white woman slapped the Black woman. Each hit was laced with helplessness and power. The woman had walked in on her husband fucking this Black woman. When the husband looked at his wife, he had a wide grin on his pale face. The Black woman was in tears, her head pinned to the bed, her dress yanked over her head. But the white woman didn’t care that the Black woman was being raped, that this was a nightly routine, that the baby the Black woman was carrying was one out of force and not love. All she cared about was her husband rather be with a field nigger rather than be in her bed a night.

The rage, the hatred, the pain rose in the white woman’s chest like a dead decrepit ghoul clawing its way out of the ground with only revenge set in its brows. Her name was Lilly. Lilly Bounderrich of Canton Mississippi. The lady of the largest slave plantation. That same night, she burned that Black woman and her unborn child. And when her husband saw what she had done, the disgust welled in his eyes, Lilly knew that her husband loved that negro woman more than his own perfect white wife.

Her husband snapped her neck with his bare hands.

It was her sorrow and grief that stopped her from crossing over.

The Black woman’s name was Matty. Matty was buried in the plot meant for Lilly. And Lilly was buried amongst the discarded bodies of dead slaves in unmarked graves. Matty already had six of the master’s kids and Lilly had no children of her own. With a heavy heart of remorse and repentance, Lilly had watched over the generations of Matty’s kids–making sure they were protected ever since.

Lilly released my arm. Her fingers left an icy imprint on my deep brown skin.

Her empty black holes were crying, her voice was cracked from centuries of unuse “Did I do enough? Can I go?”

I didn’t know. I never knew. That’s the thing with restless spirits. Even after death, they were frightened of what came next.

Jealous rage.

She murdered an innocent Black woman that had no freedom or say over her life. Lilly had worked hard to ensure Matty’s prosperity and had cared for her lineage as if it were her own. Had Lilly done enough to cross over? To be forgiven? To finally rest peacefully?

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

Lilly’s cries flooded the room like a siren, setting off a chain reaction. The other ghosts bending to centuries of Lilly’s strength cried as if they were mourning every regret, pain, and sorrow. Even Revvy, on his knees, tears streamed down his cheek as he watched the scene unfold in the church.

Death would never be peace to a corrupt soul.

I couldn’t bear the pressure on my brain any longer. I screamed–pushing the ghost back with all of my might. Blood trickling from my nose–my voice went raw. A slight buzz sounded in my ear. The ice in the air defrosted.

A gentle hand wrapped around my shoulders. I jerked away, flinging my eyes open. Every last ghost was gone except Revvy. His hollowed eyes stared blankly as if he were just a shell of what he once was.

Another hand touched my thigh. I jumped off the bench. I tripped directly into Revvy–attempting to stabilize myself. His soul went through me causing a wave of nausea to leap in my throat. Jamie and Granny observed me as if I was a rat in some lab and they were waiting for my next move.

The entire church had gone silent.

All eyes on me.

My auntie Niecy whispered to the new pastor. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a lil’ touched in the head.”

I scowled at her; the remnants of Lilly’s hatred lingered on my skin. Before I did something I’d regret, I fixed my eyes toward the exit and ran.

Chapter Question: Do you think Lilly did enough to cross over?

Theme Song:

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