I thought for sure we would need a raincheck for our Hawaiian trip. If we missed this flight, we miss our connecting flight to Maui. Susan and I were crawling along Interstate 70 most of the way. By the time we reached the airport’s entrance sign I was certain we would need to reschedule. 

Susan touched my arm. “Maybe it’s been delayed.”

“That would be nice,” I said. 

We didn’t account for traffic. It was that simple. The Sunday after Thanksgiving is the busiest travel day of the year.

We parked the car, grabbed our luggage, and ran. Susan checked us in online, but there was still a line to get through security. 

Eventually, we made it through.

“Look for Gate T3,” Susan said. 

I saw the sign before her. It was dark, with “T3” written in a bright, glowing font. The gate agent was standing by the podium calmly writing herself a note. The gate was full of people. On the wall, over her shoulder, a digital screen flashed: 

8:15 – Chicago – On Time

“We made it,” Susan whispered.

“We did,” I said.

It was 7:44. 

Susan and I started to walk. Straight ahead, at the end of the hallway, was a bathroom. 

“Just a minute honey,” Susan said. “I need to use the lady’s room.” 

She went in. 

I waited outside the door. Across from our gate a procession of tourists and business-types were patiently waiting in line for their Egg & Cheese Wake-Up Wraps and iced coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.

We were okay.

I took a minute and walked past the Caribbean Cafe, the Dunkin’ Donuts, the Pizza Hut Express and then came back around expecting to see her.

But she wasn’t out. So, I turned and went back around again. 

“Now boarding Sections B and C,” the women on the intercom said. 

I checked the boarding pass on my phone. We were Section C. We had a little time, but the clock was ticking. I glanced back at the woman’s room.

No Suzy-Q. 

I made the loop again: down to the Pizza Hut Express, past the Hudson News and back around.

When I made it back to the bathroom, I didn’t see Susan. I saw another woman standing next to a man wearing a cowboy hat. 

I heard her say, “I’ll be quick.”

“I’ll be over by the cafe,” he said. 

She skittered away to the bathroom. He turned to me and said, “Howdy.” 

I raised my arm to say “hi.”

“Now boarding Sections D and E,” the woman said over the intercom.

I was getting a little nervous. I thought of texting Susan, but decided not to. She would be out soon. And yet…

They were boarding our plane.

The man in the cowboy hat was sitting on a stool outside the Caribbean Café. I turned and made the loop again. I glanced at my phone. There  was a message from Susan. 

It said: 

Scott

Nothing else. Susan always sent her texts in complete sentences and used correct punctuation. But this time, for whatever reason, it was short, sweet and not grammatically correct. 

I didn’t want to alarm her by asking if she was okay. I just wanted her to respond, so I replied back:  

They are boarding the plane 

I passed our gate. The last group of passengers were filing onto the plane. I checked my phone again. 

The message was delivered, but not read.

I walked back to the Pizza Hut Express and turned around.

Something wasn’t quite right.

The man with the hat was sitting on his stool, looking cool. I don’t remember his name. I’ll call him “Cowboy Hat.” Two teenage girls were making their way to the bathroom. There was a man standing near the escalator sipping an Orange Julius. Probably their father, I thought.

I made my way over to the woman’s room and looked back. 

Cowboy Hat was watching.

It felt so unnatural to open a woman’s bathroom door. I opened it a crack. It was pitch-dark. Did they turn off the lights? I didn’t think so. A chill crept down my spine. 

“Susan, are you…alright?” 

Crickets. 

Something was wrong.

I closed the door. I would like to say because it was appropriate. Or, rather, it would have been inappropriate to hold open the door of the woman’s room waiting for an answer. I backed away slowly, my heart beating through my chest. 

Logically this did not make sense. She was in a bathroom with at least three other people. There was only one exit. I should not have expected her to answer my question. Women do not typically answer questions from men standing outside a lady’s bathroom door.

Cowboy Hat looked stoic, like everything was normal. I think, once, he even yawned. 

The woman at the gate leaned over her microphone. “Now boarding all sections for Flight 2114 to Long Beach,” she said coolly. 

Cowboy Hat looked at me and smiled. “Waiting for your lady too?” 

“My wife,” I said pointing to our gate. “They’re boarding my plane now to Long Beach, California.” 

“Long Beach, huh?” he asked. His eyes widened.  “I should probably get going too.”

The man with the Orange Julius was walking to a trash canister next to the bathroom. He threw away a hot dog wrapper and glanced toward the woman’s room door.

Coming the other way, from Concourse A, was an older man in a wheelchair with breathing assistance in his nose. A heavy-set woman, behind him, was pushing the chair.

“Frank, I’m going to use the lady’s room,” she said. “Do you still have your book?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said tapping his fingers on a Stephen King book.

She parked the wheelchair next to an oak bench by the bathroom door and wobbled inside. Frank lifted the book’s cover and riffled through the pages to find his spot.

“Your Lady’s been in there a while?” Cowboy Hat asked me.

“Yes, she went in before your wife.” 

“My girlfriend,” he corrected. 

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” I turned and jabbed a thumb toward our gate. “They’re boarding our plane now.” 

Cowboy Hat adjusted his hat and turned toward his gate on the other side. People were beginning to stand, throw away their coffee cups, and sling their carry-on bags and totes over their shoulders.

“Yeah, I reckon we ought to get moving too.”

Another announcement over the intercom: “Pre-boarding flight 3312 to Dallas. Sections A and B. All military personal and those with small children may board at this time.”

Cowboy Hat stood up from his stool, wiping crumbs from his shirt. “That would me,” he said.

The man with the Orange Julius was making his way to the bathroom. He seemed to think that if he were closer to the bathroom,   he would have a shorter wait.

It wasn’t working.

Frank, the older man in the wheelchair, closed his book and looked toward the bathroom.

Cowboy Hat pointed his finger at Orange Julius, Frank, and me. “I think we have four waiting for someone in the lady’s room.”

I looked around the terminal to see if there was anyone else. Standing underneath an orange Arrivals sign in the terminal hallway was a short, balding man with glasses and a teenage boy. On the teenage boy’s shirt was a picture of Bigfoot pushing a lawn mower with the phrase: 

This Lawn Isn’t Going to Mow Itself 

scrawled next to it.

I pointed at them. “I think those two are waiting for someone in the woman’s room too.” 

The short man with glasses looked worried. I think he had been there longer than me.

“Well, that makes six of us,” Cowboy Hat said. “How many ladies do you think they can fit in there?”

“I think the capacity is two,” I said. “We need to find a security guard or someone that works here to go in and take a look.”

Cowboy Hat had a grin on his face. “You watch, they’ll be in there hiding and the joke will be on us,” he said.

I looked back around at my gate. Everyone had gone down the tunnel. Our gate door was about to close. 

A woman and a teenage girl were making their way down the main terminal hallway now. One of them was going to the bathroom. This posed a dilemma for me. Should I stop them because it was unsafe? The thought was absurd. If I really believed that it was not safe then I would have gone over there, flung open the bathroom door and got Susan out. 

But I did not. Because the lady’s room is off limits for men. Besides what could have happened? Something small. Perhaps a toilet was leaking. Maybe they were talking.

Was that possible? 

I hoped so. 

They walked past us. Cowboy Hat stepped out of their way. The teenage girl stopped short of the bathroom door and, when the women went into the bathroom, Cowboy Hat and I craned our necks hoping to see a familiar face – someone we might know. But it was dark like night. 

Was I scared?

Not yet, but close.

In a public place, something as mundane as a woman’s room should not warrant fear. But even then, something about that dark place were six or seven women had disappeared – they went in but did not come back out – was cause for concern. And, judging from the looks on their face, the other men waiting outside the woman’s room shared a similar sentiment with me.  

Bigfoot walked past Frank and sat down on the oak bench seat next to the bathroom. 

Frank had stopped reading his book and was looking down the terminal hallway. His gate was the one right next to mine.

The loudspeakers crackled. “Now boarding Sections, A and B for flight 2233 to Dallas,” the woman droned.

“I’m going to go in there myself if she doesn’t come out right quick,” Cowboy Hat said.

“We need to find a security guard,” I said. 

The man with the Orange Julius started to come our way. “A female security guard,” he said with a strange grin. 

“Or me,” Cowboy Hat chimed in. He looked down at his wristwatch. “They have two minutes. If no one comes out, I’m going in.” 

Orange Julius sipped another drink from his straw. “Well, they are women, but it is….” He looked around like the right word might be written on a wall somewhere. “Strange.” 

“It sure is,” I said. 

I walked toward the short man and Bigfoot. They were standing near the Arrivals sign. They both gave me a look like they knew something I didn’t. 

“Have you been waiting long?” I asked. 

“We were here before you came,” the man wearing eyeglasses said. 

“Your name,” I asked. 

“I’m Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Scott.” 

I glanced over at the teenage boy. “And your name?” 

“Dresden.” Also known as Bigfoot. 

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Big F -” I stopped myself and said carefully, “Dresden.” 

I turned and pointed to my stoic friend standing near the cafe. “Do you see the man dressed like a cowboy? He’s going in there in a minute or two to see what’s up.”

Dresden frowned like he didn’t think that would be necessary. I don’t think he wanted some older man walking into the bathroom while his girlfriend was trying to pee. 

Peter adjusted his eyeglasses and smiled nervously. “Do you think something has happened to them?” 

The agent adjusted the microphone on her lectern. “This message is for Scott and Suzanne Fizer. This is your final boarding call for Flight 2233 to Long Beach.” And then she repeated: “Scott and Suzanne Fizer Gate T3 is about to close. Please come to your gate now.” 

She began to close the gate door.

“Yes, I do think something has happened,” I said.

I looked over at Cowboy Hat’s gate. Everyone in his section was standing in line ready to board the plane. Time was running out. 

Dresden tapped me on the arm and nodded his head to something over my shoulder. “Maybe she could help,” he said. I turned around. A female security guard wearing a white polyester shirt with a gold-colored shoulder patch was coming our way. 

He seemed to like that idea better than Cowboy Hat barging into the bathroom while his girlfriend was trying to pee.

“We can try,” I said. 

Cowboy Hat was standing over by the Caribbean Cafe, looking nervous, oblivious as to what I was about to do.

The security guard met my eyes. She seemed to sense my concern. As she was about to pass me, I stepped out into the hallway. 

“Excuse me. Can you help us?”

She stopped abruptly and looked at me. “Sure. What can I do?”  

I motioned to the men standing behind me. “We’ve been waiting awhile for our wives…” I pointed toward the woman’s room. “They went into the bathroom, but we haven’t seen anyone in at least  twenty minutes, and they are starting to board our planes. I think I am going to miss mine.” 

“Want me to check?”

“Would you mind?”

I wouldn’t say that I was scared. That is not the right word. It all seemed surreal. Some strange, absurd coincidence. If just one of the women had come out, like they ordinarily do, there would be no concern. Frankly, I think I was more concerned about missing the plane. The “not coming out part” was just an odd coincidence.

“No, problem sir.” She stopped, turned, and marched right toward the woman’s room door. She reached for the wooden handle on the swinging door and stepped inside. She slipped around the corner but, just before the door swung closed, she screamed.

Ohhhh mmyy ggoooodddd!

2

The door swung closed. The screaming stopped. A cold sweat had broken out on my brow. 

“Bella!” the man wearing eyeglasses screamed. He stepped forward and tripped over Dresden’s leg. Cowboy Hat sprinted toward the bathroom but stopped a foot away. Slowly, he turned to face me. 

I thought, before, that pigs would fly before the man wearing the cowboy hat would look nervous. 

Well, pigs were flying. The stoic cowboy was scared stiff. 

I raised my hand with one finger pointing up. It was a signal for them to wait.  

Frank adjusted the tube going into his nose and began to wheel his chair toward to the door. 

The man with the Orange Julius had dropped his drink (probably when he heard her scream). There was a puddle of icy, orange slush all over the airport’s tile floor.

Another security guard came over – just a young fella, probably right out of school – and stood next to me. “Whhat happened? Is everyth-“

“She just went in and screamed,” I said. 

“Screamed?” Frank repeated. His eyes were as wide as teacup saucers. His wheelchair was at the door, but he wasn’t going in. 

The young fella put his hand on his duty belt like he was going to retrieve a weapon that I don’t think he had. 

“We should probably call the police,” I whispered to him. 

“I am,” someone behind me said. It was Peter, the man wearing eyeglasses.

The young fella walked toward the door. 

“Be careful,” Frank said as he passed.

The young fella walked by, ignoring Frank and me.

Cowboy Hat was standing sentinel, by his stool, in front of the Caribbean Café with his arms crossed. 

The young fella opened the door partway, but did not go in. As I have said already, a man going into the lady’s room just doesn’t feel right. 

“Hello?” he said tentatively. 

Crickets.

I looked back at Peter. “They should be here in a few,” he whispered and slipped his phone back into his pant’s side pocket. 

I looked down the terminal hallway, through the sliding glass doors.

Again, it all seemed preposterous. But what should I have done? Gone into the bathroom? A female security guard went in and screamed in terror.

“They’ll be coming from there,” Peter said.

I must admit I was scared. 

The young fella had his head inside the door like he was under a spell. And then he looked back at me.

“Did you see anyone?” Cowboy Hat asked. 

“Nope.” 

This wasn’t working.

There we were, six guys standing outside a woman’s bathroom, not quite sure what to do.

We needed a plan.

Outside the terminal doors, I heard police sirens. Two officers came through the airport entrance’s sliding glass doors.

Young Fella walked over like he was in charge. They spoke for a moment. One of them turned his head to look at me. 

Was he frightened?

I think he was.

And then all three began to walk toward the woman’s room. I thought they would want to stop and ask me a question or two, but they walked right by.

A moment later both police officers and the young fella stepped into the woman’s room.

Here one minute, gone the next. 

This time there were no screams. It was like they had fallen off the face of the earth. 

And, like before, the six of us stood outside the bathroom door not sure what to do.

“Well,” Cowboy Hat said looking at his watch, “how long do we wait for them to come out?” 

I didn’t have a clue.

There was something else too. I know it sounds strange, but I think there was cool air emitting from that lady’s room. I don’t know how that is possible. I’m just telling you what I felt. My face and arms were cold whenever I was near the bathroom door.

Six women, two security guards and two police officers had disappeared into the woman’s room, but there wasn’t room for more than two. Sure, they could have squeezed together shoulder to shoulder. But were they? 

I didn’t think so.

Peter was on his phone. “Yes, I understand,” he said. And then: “Okay, I will.” He looked over my shoulder. “I see them,” he said into the phone. “Okay, I will. Thank you very much.”

Peter slipped the phone back into his pant’s pocket. He pointed to something over my shoulder. “Look who’s here.”  

I turned around and a half a dozen police officers were marching our way. But they looked frightened and that bothered me more than I would like to admit. Sure, the circumstances were unusual. Five or six people had disappeared into a woman’s bathroom. But they were the police. 

What scared them? 

They walked right past us. Didn’t even notice me or Cowboy Hat sitting on his stool.

“I still think,” Cowboy Hat said, “they’re in there hiding. You watch, the joke will be on us.”

I looked at him and smiled. I didn’t believe that and neither did he.

The officer in charge had a crew cut and was built like a linebacker. He pulled the handle on the door and stuck his head in. 

“Anybody home?” he asked. 

He pulled a flashlight from his duty belt, flipped it on and shone it into the bathroom. “Hello?” He took one step and then disappeared. The door swung closed and the six of us, along with the five other officers, stood outside the woman’s room waiting. 

Dèjà vu.

It was like they were performing in some strange stage play. We were the spectators. But, was this a dark comedy or a horror tale?

Two of the officers looked at each other nervously. A woman officer with a braided ponytail whispered something to Peter. A minute earlier she had discreetly walked around the perimeter of the bathroom. Now she was standing out front with the rest of them.

“Jenkins,” she said. “Cover me. I’m going in.” Then she looked back at us and smiled. “And I will be right back.” 

Everyone laughed. But it was nervous laughter. She marched over to the woman’s room, opened the door, and went in. I checked the time on my phone.

“Give her thirty seconds,” Peter said. 

Cowboy Hat was back over by his stool in front of the Caribbean Cafe. 

Who would have thought a woman’s bathroom would cause so much drama? 

Not me.

“She’s not  coming out,” Peter whispered.

It didn’t look promising.

Cowboy Hat took two steps toward the bathroom. “Did you hear that?” 

“No, I didn’t. What was it?” I asked. 

“I heard someone cry. Faintly. It was like a cry for help from a great distance,” Cowboy Hat said. He tilted his head to listen. “I don’t hear it now.”  

Orange Julius was standing in front of me with his hands on his hips like he was deep in thought trying to solve some other problem. 

“What do you think?” I asked him. 

He turned to me and said carefully, “I think we should prop the door open and shine a light in. We can stay out here in the terminal, for safety, and use our phone’s light to get a better look.”  

“Let’s try it,” Cowboy Hat said.

Frank tapped the flashlight icon on his phone. A beam of light glowed from the top left corner. “I have the torch,” he said waving it at me. 

Cowboy Hat put his hand on the bathroom’s door handle and looked down at Frank. 

“Are you ready?” 

Frank nodded. “I am.” 

Cowboy Hat opened the door and stepped out of the way. Frank wheeled his chair up to the door’s threshold. It was dark inside, like the black pupil of…

I don’t want to say. 

Frank lifted the phone over his head. I didn’t see much, just a corner of the bathroom’s tile wall.

Frank wheeled his chair past the threshold.

“This – “ Frank started to say. He began to inch his chair into the darkness. 

“Ohhh my goo – “ Frank screamed. There was a gust of cold air coming from the bathroom. 

And then he was gone.

Not surprisingly, Cowboy Hat was sitting on his stool by the Caribbean Cafe. He adjusted his hat and looked at me. “Anymore ideas, Long Beach?” 

Slowly, I turned to look back at him. “I don’t have any,” I said. 

Peter was on his phone again.

“Yes, please have them hurry.” He sounded worried. “Please. Hurry.” He looked down at his phone and tapped the touchscreen. “That was Homeland Security,” he said. “They’re on their way.” 

* * *

A tall, wiry man in his twenties moseyed over. I think he was there for the flight after mine. “Why don’t you just open the door and holler at ‘em?” he asked.

“We tried that,” I said shaking my head. “It doesn’t work.” 

Another woman came over. I think it was his girlfriend. “I’ll go in,” she said confidently.

“No, I don’t think that’s – “ Before I could finish the sentence she was walking away.

“She’ll be alright,” the wiry man said. “You watch. She’s pretty smart.” 

“Okay,” I said.

She opened the door, stepped in and – 

Screamed. 

“Ohhh my god – Paaauuul! Heeeeelp!” 

The wiry man sprinted toward the bathroom and went in. The door swung closed behind him.

There was no sound, and now he was gone.

Peter walked over to me. “We can’t let anyone else go in.” 

“I agree,” I said. 

Except for me, I thought. 

I walked over to the woman’s room and opened the door a crack. I hollered for Susan. There was nothing. Just that cool breeze. Somehow, the inside of the bathroom was colder than the rest of the airport terminal by at least twenty degrees.

“Scott,” Peter whispered. “Look who’s here.” 

* * *

They came through the airport terminal’s sliding glass doors. There were five of them: three men, two women. In dark, navy blue uniforms with duty belts around their waist and a handgun on their hip. Across the front of their shirts written in a bright, yellow font were the words: 

Department of Homeland Security

And below that: 

POLICE

They came our way. 

‘The cavalry’s here,” Peter whispered.

The one in front waved his hand toward me. “Okay, everybody step away from the bathroom,” he said. 

Cowboy Hat stayed on his stool. The rest of us backed away slowly. I went over to my gate. Reluctantly, Cowboy Hat stood and walked back to the entrance of the Caribbean Cafe. 

One of the woman had a roll of yellow caution tape that she began to unwind to cordon off the area. And then she came over to us. “I need everybody to back-up,” she said waving her hand. “We’re closing this area down.”

The taped off area encircled the bathroom fifty feet on all sides. 

No one was going in. 

But, like before, no one was coming out.

3

Quickly one of the officers swung open the bathroom door and stepped in. Another officer, holding a STANLEY spotlight, walked over and stood at the entrance to the bathroom. A third officer used a wedge to prop open the door.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” I asked Peter.

Peter was in front of me. “Something about a hole. Uuhhh…a sinkhole.”

“A sinkhole?”

“Yeah, I think.” 

Two other officers sprinted over. One of them was holding a nylon rope. 

I stepped over the yellow caution tape.

“Scott? What are you doing?” Peter asked.

I had no idea.

The officer with the rope clipped one end to a carabiner on his belt.  His partner held the other end. Slowly, he backed into the woman’s room, and lowered himself into the hole.

I began walking toward the woman’s room. No one noticed me…

Except for Peter. 

“Scott,” he said under his breathe. “Get back here.”

I ignored him.

One officer, in the terminal hallway, saw me and quickly walked my way. “Sir, stop,” he said. 

It was too late. 

The officer at the door had his back to me. I squeezed past and stepped into the bathroom. The cold air hit me first. And then, in the light from the officer’s spotlight, I saw a round hole in the bathroom floor that was about eight feet in diameter. It was like a large concrete ball had been dropped from the sky and crashed through the bathroom’s tile floor.

They had fallen into this hole.

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled over. It was pitch-dark.

“Suuusan!” I screamed.

I heard my echo:

Suuuuu-san-san-san-san-san-san…

I turned around and tried to lower myself into the hole feet first. 

But I slipped.

My heart sank. I was in free fall, for a second. I hit something hard. It was the other officer that had lowered himself into the hole before me. He grabbed my arm. And, with my other hand, I snatched the nylon rope.  

“Christ! What are you doing?” he screamed at me.

“Looking for my wife,” I answered quickly.

He was losing his grip on my arm.

“Bring us up!” he shouted to one of the officers standing near the bathroom door. 

The officer was about the same size as me and, in the dim light, I could see he had a thin goatee. And smelled like peppermint.

They couldn’t pull us up with one rope.

“How far down do you think it goes?” I asked him.

“Who knows. It could be fifty feet, a hundred feet,” he said. “It’s a sink hole, right in front of a bathroom door. Christ! Why did you come down here?” 

Another rope was thrown down. It was dangling a few feet away from me on the sinkhole’s sidewall. 

“Grab that rope and pull yourself up,” he screamed. 

And then I heard a voice from below. It was a whisper, “Scott. Help.” 

Susan.

The officer pulled up on my arm. “You’re not going down sir. We can handle this.”

I shook my arm free and pushed away from him.

I was in free fall.

Falling through a dark, cold place. My feet suddenly slammed into ground. Pain shot up from my feet, through my legs and to my back. I rolled over on my side in agony. I felt someone’s clothes near me, but they weren’t Susan’s. It  was an officer.

“Susan, are you here?”

“Over here,” she whispered.

I couldn’t see her. It was just a voice coming from the corner. 

Behind me, I heard groaning sounds from a man. Something wasn’t right with him. 

“I’m here Scott,” I heard her pant.

“We have people alive down here,” I screamed to the officer above. “Send down a rope.” 

And then the spotlight shone on sinkhole’s floor. I saw the remains of two officers that were so disfigured it doesn’t seem proper to write about it here. I saw one of the teenage girls with a twisted head. She was dead. The other  girl, on top, looked worse but was alive. 

I could hear her breathing.

The nylon rope slinked down onto the sinkhole’s dirt floor like a coiled snake. I grabbed it and handed it to Susan.

“Susan, can you hold onto this?”

“I don’t think so,” she panted. 

I bent down and picked her up. She put her arm around my neck. I reached for the nylon rope. “Okay guys. I’m on,” I said.

Far below, perhaps a hundred feet or more, I heard the unmistakable sound of river water.

Slowly, we were raised from the sinkhole. 

* * *

I found out later there were only three survivors – Susan, one of the police officers and the teenage girl. Cowboy Hat’s girlfriend broke her neck. Frank’s wife (or caregiver) had a fatal epileptic seizure from the stress. Two of the police officers died from head trauma. 

The other officers, and a couple of the woman, must have fallen into the river water because their bodies were never found.

The sinkhole was caused from all the heavy rain. Torrential rain the week before caused the groundwater to rise, weakening the surrounding area. Gradually, a void formed in a rock hundreds of feet down. Topsoil filled this empty space, undermining the ground beneath the woman’s room. When Susan stepped into the bathroom the floor could no longer support her weight and it gave.

As for me, I had a cut on my hand and a bruise on my knee from the fall. I still have a tinge of pain in my back from that landing. Other than that, I am fine. 

Susan is too. 

She said when she was lying on that ledge she felt people whisk by, and fall into that river one after the other. I think Cowboy Hat’s girlfriend was one of them. 

I shudder whenever I think of that. To fall in a hole when you step into a bathroom is bad enough. But to fall into a hole and then to be whisked away to God knows where is a horrible thought.

* * *

You probably thought this tale was fiction. A fantasy. How can ten woman disappear into a lady’s room? 

It happened.

A buried river, some rain and a sinkhole: the elements for an incredible story (that is true).

Dear Reader, the lesson here is not just to be careful when you step into a bathroom (although I recommend you always be cautious) but to be aware of what may be lurking around the corner or behind that closed door. 

Be vigilant. 

Be afraid of what is…

Unseen.

THE END