Vicksburg, Mississippi is an historical city located on the banks of the Mississippi River. As a port on the Mississippi River the city of forty thousand souls is far more cosmopolitan that the surrounding area. Vicksburg is also one of the most haunted cities in Mississippi. The city itself endured a terrible forty day siege by Federal Force's during the Civil War. The city is said to be crawling with ghosts, from phantom Confederate soldiers still defending the city from advancing Federal Forces, to demons said to have been conjured up by reckless teens who dabbled in the occult for fun. The town is said to host dozens of haunted sights. The most famous of these supposed haunted houses is McRaven, an Empire style house located on Harrison Street. The house has often been called “The Most haunted house in Mississippi.”
But my story is not about the many ghosts that are supposed to call McRaven Home. No my story is about a personal encounter I had in a small little museum located at the intersection of Clay Street and Cherry Street in the heart of Historic Downtown Vicksburg.
I remember it was the autumn of two thousand eighteen and I'd just told my older sister Kayla that I wanted to live full time as a girl named Madeline. Kayla just rolled with it, shrugging her shoulders and saying that was a decision only I could make. But she also mused that since I was going to be living full time as a girl that I needed to explore the world as a girl. And so since she had business in Vicksburg, she decided that I should tag along and explore the city as a girl. Up till that point, I'd only been allowed to travel around my new hometown of Benton dressed as a girl and once or twice at the mall in Jackson.
Kayla reasoned that Vicksburg was a pretty safe town to explore, and being rich in history she hoped I would learn something while she visited with friends. So, with that in mind she placed one hundred and twenty six dollars in my hand, checked my purse to make sure my phone was fully charged, and oddly enough she slipped in a rosary, for luck she said. I believe that rosary saved me.. and once all that was done she kissed me on the cheeks, told me where to meet her for dinner that evening, warned me not to flirt with all the boys and left to make her social round.
And so there I was in the heart of Downtown Vicksburg, alone with two close to two hundred dollars in my pocket and the whole day in front of me. Now like Benton, Vicksburg has a thriving downtown scene, it just feels alive. Both sides of the street are home to thriving boutiques, lively cafes, romantic bistro's, and unique museums.
And let me tell you something, I soaked it all in. I felt like I was living in a Studio Ghibli movie. It's hard to explain, but the sounds of people laughing and talking, the way sound echoed down the cobblestone paved streets, the smells that perfumed the air, smells that included fresh baked bread from the bakery, freshly brewed coffee from the coffee house, the shouting of children as they played on a old cannon that overlooked the river. And the way the wind just seemed to blow around me, tossing my brunette hair around.
I spent the first part of the day touring the many museums that called downtown home, including one that focused on the civil war, and another that focused on Vicksburg as a whole, and another one focused on the river. Of course I shopped at the many boutiques too, I'm not ashamed to say I brought at least two skirts, a dress and a pair of casual jeans without breaking the bank. And I had a delicious blue plate lunch at a charming cafe called “Cafe De New Orleans' '. The meal was golden fried chicken , the chicken was fried to perfection with the best seasoned crust I've ever tasted in my life. And was so moist and tender it just melted in your mouth. My sides included mustard greens that had been seasoned just right and flavored with tiny bits of bacon.
Black eyed peas that had been slow cooked to perfection, and Speckled Butter beans a favorite of the south. And to finish it all off a piece of decadent chocolate cake. Talk about a tiny slice of heaven. I felt like I'd gained at least fifteen pounds from that meal alone.
It was well into the afternoon when I finished eating. I had caught the tail end of the lunch crowd and the staff had informed me that if I'd been just a minute or two late, I would have missed lunch altogether. Full from lunch, I decided to tour an art gallery that was just up the street and hit the local bookshop. I brought from the art gallery a small print from a local painter and from the bookshop a manga I was missing from my collections.
The sun was just about to set, and one quick glance at my watch told me I had just enough time to squeeze in one more stop before I was to meet my sister for dinner that night. It was then I decided to check out the tiny doll museum located just across from the bookshop.
The place was called “Yesterday's Children Toy and Doll Museum”. And according to the local's the place was supposed to be haunted by a doll now according to local lore the doll, who was fitting enough named Annabel had been owned by a little Jewish girl in Germany in the nineteen thirties. Because of Nazi Anti-Jewish actions, the family according to some The Wernickle family planned on leaving German and to join relatives in the U.S. The little girl insisted that her doll leave too. To placate the girl, the family shipped the doll to relatives. Before they, too, could leave, they were rounded up by the Gestapo, placed in a concentration camp and never heard from again.
It was said the spirit of the little girl lived inside the doll and that she would often search out for playmates among the visitors. In some cases she showed real malice toward the living and would often scratch, bite and physically attack the living. In other cases she was said to menace the living by pushing items off the selves, giggling behind their backs or whispering words into their ears. I learned all of this from an episode of ghost adventures.
Looking back now, I should have turned around and walked away, but I felt something was calling out to me, something inside that place wanted me. And before I could catch myself, I started to cross the street. And soon I was pushing through the wooden door and stepping into a world of wonder. Okay wonder not the right word. But I soon found myself surrounded by toys from all era's.
“Can I help you?” I remember the clerk said to me from behind a big wooden desk. The clerk was an old woman, who seemed to have one foot in the grave. Her hair was white as a sheet and most of her teeth seemed missing. Her fingernails too seemed longer than they should and her dress, a blue dress seemed to hang off her bone-thin frame.
“Yes.” I said. “I want to see a doll.”
“We have plenty of dolls.” She responded.
“This doll appeared on television last year.”
“Oh!” I recall her saying as she pointed with her gnarl hand through a door. “She is waiting on you right through there. But be careful. She likes to play with children..” She paused, then she loudly cleared her throat and tapped the sign that read.
“Admission – Seven Dollars.”
I blinked and rolled my shoulders and pulled my purse around me and fished out my billfold, I then counted out one five dollar bill and three ones into the old woman's open palm. She smiled a feral smile and sniffed the money and then cackled like a demon released from the pits of hell. Looking back, I should have turned tail and dashed out the door and ran for the nearest police book. Age had taken its toll on the woman it seemed, she was clearly a few cards shy of having a full playing deck.
But I shrugged my shoulders and started to walk through the door. Now I was never much of a doll person. Heck even when I was a boy going by the name of 'Mark' I preferred plush dolls and stuffed animals over the china dolls that seemed to surround me. I hated porcelain dolls, something about them seemed to put me on edge. My late mother Lisa loved them and had a massive collection of them. The guest room in our old house in Clinton was filled with her collection of vintage porcelain dolls.
As I walked through the walkway memories of that guest room came to mind. As a little boy, before I became Madeline I used to hate going into that room. I always felt like something or somebody was watching me. The dolls seemed to move and often seemed to play tricks on me, like causing the door to shut behind. I never, ever closed the door behind me, just the thought of getting trapped inside that room gave me nightmares. Those dolls seemed to know it and used that fear against me.
My breathing became harder and deeper. I felt a tightness form in my chest. It felt like somebody was squeezing my lungs. I started to cough, then I started to wheeze and then the room started to spin around. I felt like I was having an asthma attack. The room started to spin around, I felt like icy claws had taken hold of my chest, the fluorescent light bulbs overhead started to flicker on and off before popping, showering the room in a waterfall of sparks.
I was beyond words and scared out of my mind. One would think with the flights flickering and popping somebody would come running. Nobody came.. After what seemed like a very long time, but could have only been a matter of seconds I managed to get my breathing under control, well controlled enough that I could stumble through the door I just walked through. I wanted to leave the room as soon as possible, the idea of spending any more than a few seconds in a dimmed room surrounded by creepy porcelain dolls was more than my shaken mind could take.
But then something happened, something appeared out of the corner of my eye. A silhouette of a girl appeared just a few feet in front of me. The moment the outline appeared was the moment the temperature in the room seemed to drop like a stone. My breath turned to mist in front of me, a sudden coldness seemed to surround me, and my asthma once more seemed to kick up. Once more I felt myself struggling to breath and the shadow girl started to walk toward me.
What happened then, I can't say, I reached into my purse, pulled out the rosary that Kayla had given me that morning. Showed the shadowed child the silver crucifix at the end and started to yell. And I mean bellowed the Lord's Prayer as loud as I could and as quick as I could and that seemed the work. A few moments later my breathing returned to normal and though my strength was sapped. I managed to crawl out of that room.
Now I believe I've encountered the paranormal a few times in life. Some of those encounters have been very positive, others have not. This one though was one of the few times I felt my life was threatened. I try not to think what would have happened if I'd not had that rosary with me. Or what would have happened if the shadow child had reached out and touched me. Or what could have happened. But as any seasoned ghost hunter will take you, sometimes things get real, and when things get real that is a real test of your metal. If you catch my drift that is.
With the hindsight of a few seasons behind me, I was fourteen when I encountered that ghost or demon or whatever it was. I'm sixteen now. This was a foreshadowing of things to come, Vicksburg is haunted. And it seemed I would soon find myself encountering many of the ghosts that roamed the city. Maybe that is why I decided to found a society of storytellers who sit around a roaring campfire in the middle of the woods, roasting marshmallows and beef franks, and while we much munch we scare ourselves silly with ghost stories. Because each of us had our own personal encounters and we needed to share them.
In the course of writing down these stories, I've discovered no two paranormal encounters are the same. I'll give you an example, let's say you and I dear reader were going on a ghost hike through the woods. You might encounter the legions of hell attacking you, you might be touched, scratched, and otherwise menaced. While I, on the other hand, would enjoy a midnight stroll through the woods.
And that is why I write these stories. To chronicle the paranormal encounters of a fellowship of trans girls, their boyfriends, their friends, and their allies. And above all to bring you some spine tingling tales. So with only a handful stories to go till this volume of Ghost Stories and Urban Legends of Benton: More Ghost Stories is finished let's keep the ball rolling. So readers beware you're in for a scare!
