Last week, I had the pleasure of a one-night stay at the historic Old Capitol Inn in Jackson, Mississippi. I love old buildings, and I immediately felt the charm upon entering the front door of the hotel.
But when I was given my room number, something shifted. Something felt off.
“You’ll be on the third floor, room 19,” the check-in person said.
For some reason, being on the third floor of this quaint, downtown hotel felt far away and . . . spooky.
The third floor hallway was eerily quiet, and I immediately regretted not having my son travel with me. My room was one of three at the very end of the hallway. There were connecting doors—something I’m not a fan of—between my room and the room at the very end of the hallway. All the rooms had names. My room was the Magnolia, and the room across the hallway from mine was Faulkner’s Flat.
My room turned out to be really nice. It was so nice that I made a video and sent it to my husband.
Maybe I jinxed myself by deeming the hotel haunted. Or maybe it was the fact that I was across the hall from Faulkner’s Flat and right next door to the Eudora Welty library (not to mention the Eudora Welty festival poster down the hall), but something came a haunting that night.
I usually have good dreams when I sleep. But that night, all my dreams were . . . haunting. In one dream my shirt tail was being pulled by an unseen entity (yes, a ghost). As I screamed for my husband to help me, I startled out of the dream. Upon awakening, I felt as if I had been struggling and fighting with a presence in real life.
In another dream, I was fighting in a war. I was handed an assault weapon and was given the order to shoot to kill, whether man, woman or child. After I startled awake from that horrible dream, I felt a weight press down on the other side of the bed as if someone (or thing) had joined me. Now, that was when I almost turned on the lights and called it a night (or day?). Then I checked the time. It was only 4-ish, too early to get up, especially since I knew I had a three-hour drive home after giving my presentation. I needed sleep. So, I lifted the covers on the side of the bed where I had felt the weight bear down, and I began to fan them. I said, “Whatever is in this room, you need to leave! I need to sleep!” The next time I woke up it was to my alarm at six. I have never been happier to see the sun rising.
Of course, I’m only kidding about the ghosts being William Faulkner and Eudora Welty. The Old Capitol Inn was once the YWCA and served as a home for young women who came to Jackson from rural areas for work. Maybe the spirit of one of those women decided to toy with me that night. Or, perhaps I had been attacked by my own fears and vivid imagination. (I did feel a weight bear down on the bed though.)
Ghosts or no ghosts, I actually enjoyed my stay at the Old Capitol Inn, and I would stay again. Just . . . not alone. Plus, I was in Jackson for a very good reason. I was giving the Gallery Talk at the Emmett Till Exhibit at the Mississippi Civil Rights Museum. Below are a few pics.
I was so happy to meet Lauren Rhodes (decked in the denim jacket) in person! Lauren is the founder of Rooted (In Mississippi) Magazine, and she interviewed me a few weeks ago. Please subscribe to her newsletter and enjoy the great articles she and other Mississippi writers are publishing.
I was also happy to spend time with my good friend and fellow kidlit author Sarah Campbell, Director of Programs and Publications at the museum. Also fun was meeting new people like Cylinda and Catherine, who are also writers and new readers of Midnight Without a Moon.
And though I jest about the haunting of the Old Capitol Inn, I jest not when I say that entering the exhibit was haunting and painful. Every emotion I felt while writing Midnight Without a Moon rushed upon me as I viewed the exhibits and watched the film.
Seeing the exhibit also made me realize not enough people have read my book. I do not say this for monetary reasons (although that’s a very good reason); I say it because I feel it’s true. I wrote the book because I wanted people to feel what Black people in the Mississippi Delta felt before, during, and after the murder of Emmett Till. Like Mamie Till, I want the world to see. I want the world to know what the Mississippi Delta that Emmett Till visited that summer, but did not return home alive from, was like.
I want the world to see. I want the world . . . to feel.
Congratulations on this event and on another excellent blog post!
I’m feeling it! AND I just so happen to be reading Midnight Without a Moon right now. Like, it’s sitting on my lap. I’m already loving our spunky protagonist, Rose Lee.