"Little boys with nasty habits,

should stick to toys and chasing rabbits.

For if they dwell into the deep,

the lords of Hell their souls will keep."



Three minutestill the plane was scheduled for take-off. How did he get so late, he'd never been late before in his life. Mr. Punctuality. That had been Luther Wilcox's name since he was a little kid. Never late on a school assignment, never late for dinner, never late for a date, never late getting a report into his boss, and now he was about to miss a very important plane that would take him from New York to Chicago to see a new, and possibly high-paying, client.

He rounded a bend and the ticket booth came into view. There was still time. He picked up his pace and was now almost jogging.

"Daddy," a little girl at his side tugged at his sleeve as she ran to keep up with her father.

"What is it, honey?" he asked absently, all focus now on the small brown-haired woman behind the desk.

"Daddy, I have to go."

"We are going, sweetie, we're almost there."

"Noooo! I have to goooo!"

"We're almost on the plane, Hannah." Luther handed the boarding passes to the ticket lady.

"Cutting it a little close," the ticket lady said with a smile. Luther may have found her attractive if he weren't in such a rush.

"Right on time as I see it," he smiled back.

"Daddy I have to…pee," she whispered the last word and flushed embarrassingly.

Luther groaned. "I'm sorry, dear, but you'll just have to wait to go on the plane."

"But I gotta goooo!" the little girl began to dance the dance of one whose bladder is full to bursting.

"You have to hold it."

"Sir?" It was the ticket lady. "Luggage is still being loaded and we allow time for late comers so these doors will still be open for about ten minutes if you would like to take your daughter to the restroom. There's one just there." She pointed to a restroom not far away.

"Oh! Then let's go, Hannah." He turned to the ticket lady, "Thank you very much," and led his daughter towards the men's room.

Hannah resisted her father's pushing. "That's the man's, Daddy! I can go in the girl's by myself."

"Oh. Okay." He led her over to the women's room and opened the door for her. "I'll be right here when you're done."

"Okay," Hannah said and went inside.

Seven minutes ticked by. Luther was getting worried again. Should he knock and check on his daughter? Or ask a woman to check? He decided on knocking. "Hannah?" he asked through the closed door.

No answer.

He pushed the door open a crack. "Hannah? Are you alright?"

No answer.

Luther looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him and stepped inside the lady's room. "Hannah. We gotta go, hon-"

He stopped and his stomach sank and lurched at the same time. A thick puddle of blackish-red liquid was pooling under one of the stalls.

"Hannah?" He took a step forward, his legs numb. "Hannah?" The numbness was spreading up his abdomen. Why wasn't his daughter answering? The stepped up to the stall with the pool of oozy liquid. "Hannah? Honey?" He pushed the door open.

The scream that rang from the lady's room drew the attention of stander-bys who, in turn, drew the attention of security who, in turn, drew the attention of the police.

Seven-year-old Hannah Wilcox was found dead in the airport bathroom sitting on the toilet with her eyes missing. Something had pulled them out.