“You fool, this isn’t a camera. That was the transmitter for our private security system. Now you’ve broken it — and they’ll come looking for it.”
They? A chill ran down my spine. I scrolled back through the photos I’d taken of the rental for proof. That’s when I noticed it — in one picture, just behind the curtain, a faint red dot glowed against the wall. A laser. A tracker.
It dawned on me that this wasn’t just about a creepy host recording guests.
Something bigger was happening.
That “Airbnb” was a front — not a home, not a vacation spot, but a setup.
Watching. Collecting. Waiting. We didn’t go back. We didn’t even call the host again.
Instead, we drove three more hours until we reached a city hotel, then I smashed the cheap phone I’d used to book the place.
I filed a police report the next morning, but part of me wondered if it would even matter.
That night, lying awake with my wife beside me, I realized something: safety is fragile.
We trust glowing five-star reviews, polished photos, and pretty words on a screen.
But sometimes, the walls that promise comfort are nothing more than a disguise. And sometimes the blinking light isn’t just a warning. It’s a trap.
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