The Suff: Part 2
A follow-up, featuring Fr. Bubba and a tangental prologue.
When I wrote my contribution to The Suff, I off-handedly referenced a character that stirred animated interest by
and . I knew the name alone would get readers’ attention, but this was a level of excitement that I did not anticipate!None of these characters are new to me, including Father Bubba. In fact, Isa’s story had been forming in my head since college. At that time I had moved out of Miami and was feeling homesick, so Isa was an extension of myself understanding my Hispanic-American identity in a new city.1
Maybe someday I’ll write Isa’s story in full. But until then, her universe gets cursed with a visit by The Suff. 😅
Before you read my follow-up, I’d like to provide some character info on Father Bubba: He is a black Catholic priest from New Orleans. He belongs to a religious order, and was assigned as the chaplain for Bishop Doyle High School in Philadelphia years before Isa arrives at the school.2 He acts as a spiritual uncle-figure for the student body.
Funny enough, he’s been in my head years before I met my friend who is a point of reference for his personality. The only differences between my friend and Father Bubba is that the former is not from New Orleans, and rather than being a priest belonging to a religious order, he is on track to become a diocesan priest next year!
With all that said, I’m almost sure that
and are conspiring to write a spin-off about Father Bubba. But I guess this comes with the territory of creating characters.Thank you for bearing with my tangental prologue. Onto the follow up!
When Isa showed her Chromebook to Mrs. Pearson, the Google Doc vanished. Not only that, the computer’s history showed no evidence of a doc titled “The Suff” ever existing. The media teacher brushed her away, annoyed that she wasted her time.
She hesitantly got acquainted with her new device during lunch. Ruby encouraged her not to add her new cover to the Chromebook. After all, it might glitch out again. So she carried on her day, logging into Classrooms and turn in assignments.
Isa had some time after school to complete some homework before her mother picked her up for ballet class, so she decided to work in the Campus Ministry center.
As soon as she stepped into the center, a calm enveloped her spirit. The business of the first week of school, on top of the mysterious Google Doc, created a lot of stress for the sophomore. On top of that, Raul’s birthday was coming up next week.
Her cousin would have turned nineteen this year.
Father Bubba stepped out of his office to investigate the visitor. Once he recognized her, he offered a warm and toothy smile.
“Welcome back, Izzy! Lookin’ for time to kill?”
“Yeah, is it okay if I do my homework here, Father?”
“No problem, chil’. I’ma set things up for a staff meeting tomorrow morning, so don’t mind me pacing around.”
She thanked the chaplain and took a seat on a lounge chair near the chapel. A large window was behind her, displaying an open field leading to a forest of oak trees. She connected her pink bluetooth headphones to her Chromebook, then started her English homework.
Five minutes passed when the volume suddenly lowered to mute. She pressed the volume key in annoyance only to find that it was already at its highest volume. She swiftly removed her headphones, expecting to hear Marshmello’s Happier on blast. But her reaction was pointless.
She scanned the ministry center, listening for Fr. Bubba’s heavy footsteps, or some paper shuffling from his office. Yet she couldn’t even hear the AC humming.
She hovered her left hand over her ear and snapped her fingers three times.
Not a sound.
She slammed her Chromebook and jolted out of her seat, staring at the device in the hopes of finding an answer. Then something compelled her to look out the window.
Outside was a gangling figure with arms much too long for its body, its tapered black clothing billowing around it. Its gray, voided eyes barely fit its face, piercing through Isa’s conscience.
If you had not left, he would have avoided this suffering.
The wispy voice was interrupted by a vision of a gruesome car accident. It hijacked her mind’s eye, holding her attention on the vehicles. It slowly panned through the accident, approaching a mangled gray Toyota Camry with blood painted on it. As it closed in on the bloody vehicle, her deepest subconscious cried for her end.
Suddenly Fr. Bubba was in her line of view, breaking the cursed vision. She realized that the unearthly figure was in the room, its arms slithering away from her feet. Its attention now focused on the chaplain.
Fr. Bubba struck the gangling figure with Holy Water from a silver sprinkler. Upon impact, it responded like a gust of wind flying through a narrow cylinder. Its pitch grew higher and more accented with each splash of holy water. He managed to back the haunt into a corner.
Though Isa could only hear the demonic pitches, she knew that Father was delivering prayers.
Father dipped the sprinkler in holy water one more time before holding it like a dagger. He charged at the figure as it reached its arms towards him.
Father Bubba pierced the sprinkler into its chest.
Its large eyes sunk into the void of its face, dropping its hold on the priest. The pitchy wind now resembled a scream as Father dug the sprinkler deeper into the cavity. It flailed backwards before phasing through the walls, disappearing from their sight. The silver sprinkler dropped where it last stood.
The chaplain made the sign of the cross on himself. He turned to Isa and gradually approached her.
“...zzy? Are you all right, chil’?”
Isa blinked with comprehension, noting that his hands gently rested on her shoulders. Without hesitation she clasped onto Father Bubba.
She let out gasping sobs. She could not bear to acknowledge whose blood was on Raul’s car. The horrible vision was now another trauma magnifying Isa’s grief.
“What the literal hell was that?” Isa asked after exhausting herself from sobbing.
Father offered a comforting embrace, but his graying brows huddled together with concern.
“I don’t know, but it won’t hurt you no more. I made sure of that.”
My mom is Cuban, and my dad is Mexican. Depending on the situation, I will acknowledge one or both sides. When I do acknowledge both, I tend to drop the “American,” because “Cuban/Mexican/American” is a mouthful though true to my upbringing.
I originally had her moving to Chicago, but I recently changed it to Philly since I’ve not yet visited Chicago, but I have lived in Philly. If and when I write more about Isa’s story, my previous knowledge of Philly will help develop the setting.
HERE FOR FR BUBBA. GET BEHIND ME SATAN! The Suff took an Aspergillum in his cranium 😂 what a sight to imagine. Our Cajun Crusader has saved the day once again!
FATHER BUBBA IS MY NEW FAVORITE CHARACTER ON SUBSTACK