Indigenous literatures of the South have always been both futureminded and profoundly haunted. When Native southern writers grapple with and reflect on traumas marked seared into southern ground, one thing that happens is that they see, reanimate, and investigate ghosts that are themselves both Native and southern. These ghosts often appear not as frightening specters but as benevolent ancestors who return to help their relations navigate past, present, and future traumas on ground once Native and now southern—or a compound of native and southern, ever deeply soiled and deeply resilient. More, their undeadness demonstrates forms of cultural staying power that counter the horrific reality of removal. But how much power and efficacy do these ghosts have? How do the Indigenous undead fare against the persistence of global settler-colonial systems? More specifically, how are twenty-first-century Indigenous writers responding to the ghosts of disasters not just past but also on the horizon? Working under the ever-darkening shadows of impending climate crisis and the particular entanglements of a protracted Native southern history that, we argue, continually and variously extends beyond the South, how are Indigenous writers associated with the South envisioning the interrelationships between undead pasts and unmapped futures? How does the Native South imagine itself into and beyond the deep past, present, and future time of the Anthropocene? We begin to address such questions in readings of southern texts by William Faulkner, Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker, Janet McAdams, and Blake Hausman.