I was halfway through brushing my teeth when my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“Nice PJs. Smile for me.”
My stomach dropped. I scanned the tiny bathroom. Then I saw it—a red blinking light behind the vent.
I grabbed my bags and ran for the door—but the keypad lock wouldn’t budge.
Then another text.
“You’re not leaving yet.”
A cold wave of panic surged through me. My hands shook as I tugged at the doorknob, but it wouldn’t move. The beeping from the keypad suggested it was electronically controlled—probably from somewhere outside the room.
I turned back to the tiny Airbnb, scanning every corner. The place had seemed fine when I checked in—small, cozy, a little old-fashioned, but clean. Nothing had felt off until now.
My heart pounded as I fumbled for my phone. Call someone. Call anyone.
I dialed 911. The phone rang once, twice—then cut off. No signal.
I tried to send a message to my best friend, Lucas. “HELP. Airbnb locked. Camera in vent.”
No response. The message wouldn’t send.
Another text flashed on my screen.
“I wouldn’t waste time on that. You’re mine for the night.”
My breath hitched. I backed away from the door, my brain scrambling for options.
Was this some sick joke? A prank? But who would know I was here?
I grabbed my suitcase and swung it at the vent, knocking the tiny camera loose. It clattered to the floor, wires sparking.
Another text.
“That was rude.”
I threw the phone onto the bed. Think. Think.
I ran to the window and yanked at the latch, but it was locked tight. Outside, the street was dark. A single streetlamp flickered, casting eerie shadows. The nearest house was across the road, but there were no signs of life.
Then I noticed it—movement.
A dark silhouette outside, standing near the bushes. Just watching.
I stumbled back, heart hammering.
I had two choices:
- Wait for morning and hope someone realizes I’m in trouble.
- Find a way out, right now.
There was no way I was waiting.
I grabbed the bedside lamp and smashed it against the window. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter. Tempered.
Another text.
“That’s enough, now.”
I turned in time to hear a click.
The door.
It was unlocking.
I backed up as it creaked open. The hallway beyond was pitch black.
A voice—low, steady—spoke from the darkness. “You shouldn’t have broken my camera.”
I froze. My brain screamed RUN, but my legs refused to move.
Then—laughter.
Soft at first. Then louder.
A flashlight clicked on, revealing a man standing just outside the doorway. He was older, maybe late fifties, with graying hair and a smile that never reached his eyes.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, stepping closer. “Just a bit of fun. Guests don’t usually notice the camera so fast.”
Fun?
I forced my voice to stay steady. “Let me out.”
His smile widened. “I will. But first, let’s talk.”
I gripped the lamp’s broken base like a weapon. “Stay back.”
The man chuckled, holding up his hands. “Relax. I was just gonna say… You’re my first guest to actually fight back.”
My stomach twisted. “What does that mean?”
“You think you’re the only one?” His voice was almost amused. “This place—it’s special. Guests come in, but some don’t always leave. People pass through, and I get to watch. Learn. Sometimes… play.”
I swallowed bile. “Where are they?”
His eyes glinted. “Some checked out. Some stayed a little longer.”
I clenched the lamp. If I don’t act now, I might never leave.
Then—footsteps.
Not his. Behind him.
Another shadow moved in the hallway.
I barely had time to react before the man was yanked back, disappearing into the dark. He let out a startled yelp, then—silence.
I didn’t hesitate. I lunged for the keypad, punching random buttons. The door beeped—red light.
Behind me, something shuffled.
Then—the lock clicked open.
I shoved the door and ran.
Outside, the cold night air hit me like a slap. My feet pounded against the pavement as I sprinted toward the main road.
I glanced back—no one.
I kept running until I reached the nearest gas station, bursting through the doors, breathless.
The clerk looked up, startled. “Hey, you okay?”
I gasped, “Call the police.”
The police arrived fast. I told them everything—about the texts, the camera, the man.
When they got to the Airbnb, the place was… empty.
No sign of the man. No cameras.
The vent was intact. The keypad lock? Normal.
They pulled up the Airbnb listing, but—it didn’t exist anymore.
Gone.
I showed them the texts, but my call log was empty. The messages—deleted.
It was like it had never happened.
Except—one thing.
In my suitcase, wedged between my clothes, was a tiny, blinking camera.
Still recording.
Always trust your instincts. If something feels off—it probably is. Be aware of your surroundings, and if you ever feel unsafe in a rental, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY.
If this story made your heart race, hit that like button and share it with your friends—because this could happen to anyone. Stay safe!
