You don’t expect a three-year-old’s nighttime terror to feature names scraped from high school history class. More likely it’s the shadowy claws of some invented “monster” or maybe the glow of an overzealous smoke detector. But, as recently highlighted by a syracuse.com report, toddler Lainey Litton has added a peculiar antagonist to her roster of fears: John Wilkes Booth. Yes, that John Wilkes Booth—stage actor, Civil War villain, and the man responsible for President Lincoln’s tragic end at Ford’s Theatre in 1865. Ready your “they don’t make monsters like they used to” jokes.
A Brush with Infamy
Lainey’s mother, Cassie Litton, shared with People magazine that their family’s stop at Ford’s Theatre in Washington, D.C., kicked off the unlikely phobia. During the visit, Cassie offered Lainey a simplified version of the infamous night Lincoln was shot—an attempt at parental honesty that was maybe a touch too effective. Lainey, it seems, immediately gravitated toward the villain of the tale, zeroing in on Booth as the stuff of nightmares.
Details recounted in syracuse.com indicate that, by the time they reached the Lincoln Memorial, Lainey was able to identify the statue as the president who had, in her memorable phrasing, “got shotted.” This fusion of toddler logic and historical tragedy soon transformed into anxiety that followed her home: at bedtime, the big worry wasn’t whether monsters could get her, but whether John Wilkes Booth might be lurking beneath mattress level.
Cassie described trying to soothe her daughter’s worries by reassuring her that Booth has been dead since 1865, but for Lainey, that kind of logic is apparently no match for the image of a top-hatted historical baddie crouching under her bed. One has to wonder if anyone ever warned Ford’s Theatre docents to keep the assassination story extra G-rated for preschoolers.
TikTok, Plush Lincolns, and a Fear With Fans
Lainey’s Booth-related fears didn’t stay a private bedtime issue for long. As syracuse.com explains, Cassie started chronicling these episodes on TikTok—capturing moments from Lainey’s concocted anxieties to her now-viral “John Wilkes Booth baby” reputation. One especially popular video showed Cassie explaining, with a wry sense of defeat, that a single trip to Ford’s Theatre now requires nightly “Booth checks” before Lainey can settle down. The post has drawn millions of views and no small amount of collective internet amusement, demonstrating that parental woes (and presidential assassins) really do find their own audiences nowadays.
Not missing a chance to lean into history’s oddball embrace, Ford’s Theatre itself stepped in. The article points out that the museum sent Lainey a package featuring a Lincoln plush, T-shirt, and book—a sweet gesture accompanied by a letter promising that “nobody messes with the junior rangers.” There’s probably never been a more 21st-century intersection of digital virality, historic tragedy, and plush memorabilia than this.
The Odd Longevity of Historical Terror
This whole saga offers a peculiar snapshot of how history, fear, and the modern internet blur together. There’s something oddly touching about a child forging her own connection to the past, even if it’s through the lens of irrational dread. The monsters under the bed have always been built from scraps of story, overheard warnings, or, on occasion, the strange residue of a well-intentioned trip to a museum.
And despite the outlet’s reminder that Booth’s career as presidential assassin ended almost 160 years ago, to Lainey he’s every bit as immediate as anything else that might slither out from under the bed. History, it turns out, is perfectly capable of making itself at home in our nightly terrors, no special invitation needed.
Will Lainey eventually swap her fear of John Wilkes Booth for the more pedestrian worries of adolescence? Or do all of us, in some fashion, keep a few peculiar historical villains living in the dusty corners of our minds—well past the age when bedtime stories lose their edge?
