Latest / Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories / Terrifying Airbnb Tales: Escaping Danger and Haunted Rentals

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Terrifying Airbnb Tales: Escaping Danger and Haunted Rentals · Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories

• 0:07
  I was looking for a quiet place to retreat and focus on
• 0:10
  finishing my article when I came across a charming house in
• 0:13
  Savannah, GA on Airbnb. I thought I'd hit the jackpot.
• 0:18
  The photos were gorgeous, sunlight streaming through tall
• 0:21
  windows, hardwood floors and a writing nook overlooking a
• 0:25
  garden. The reviews were glowing too.
• 0:28
  Guests praised the hosts attentiveness and called it a
• 0:30
  hidden gem. I booked it immediately.
• 0:34
  A week long workation in a picturesque house sounded like
• 0:37
  exactly what I needed to finish my article.
• 0:40
  Little did I know, the charm ended at the front door.
• 0:45
  I arrived on a scorching August afternoon, my car packed with a
• 0:49
  suitcase, laptop bag and a folder stuffed with notes.
• 0:53
  As I turned down the street, my excitement dimmed.
• 0:56
  The neighborhood looked nothing like I'd imagined.
• 0:59
  Instead of quaint homes and tree lined sidewalks, I saw boarded
• 1:03
  up houses, graffiti covered walls, and a suspiciously high
• 1:06
  number of police cars patrolling the area.
• 1:10
  Maybe I took a wrong turn, I said to myself, double checking
• 1:13
  the address. But no, this was it.
• 1:17
  The house itself matched the photos, Clean, bright, and
• 1:20
  welcoming. I convinced myself that the
• 1:23
  neighborhood was just rough around the edges.
• 1:25
  After all, I'd be spending most of my time inside working.
• 1:29
  I unpacked, set up my laptop at the writing nook, and tried to
• 1:32
  settle in. Even so, I couldn't rid myself
• 1:35
  of the lingering feeling that something was off.
• 1:39
  Every time I looked out the window, I saw people lingering
• 1:41
  on the sidewalks, staring at the house.
• 1:44
  Once, I even caught a man pacing back and forth across the street
• 1:48
  looking at my car. One night, I was startled awake
• 1:51
  by what sounded like muffled voices outside.
• 1:54
  Peering through the curtains, I spotted 2 figures standing on
• 1:57
  the sidewalk, gesturing toward the house.
• 2:00
  They didn't seem to notice me, and after a few minutes, they
• 2:03
  walked away. I told myself they were just
• 2:06
  passing through. But the following night, the
• 2:10
  unease escalated. Around 11:00 PM, while working
• 2:14
  late, I heard something hit the side of the house.
• 2:16
  It was a faint thud, followed by silence.
• 2:19
  When I looked outside, nothing seemed out of place.
• 2:23
  Still, the creeping suspicion that someone else was there
• 2:26
  wouldn't go away. On the fifth night, as I sat at
• 2:30
  my laptop, the neighborhood was unusually quiet.
• 2:33
  The kind of silence that presses on your ears, making you hyper
• 2:37
  aware of every creak and rustle. That's when I heard a scratching
• 2:41
  sound. At first I thought it was an
• 2:43
  animal, but the sound was like someone testing the window
• 2:47
  frame. I felt a knot form in my chest.
• 2:50
  I crept toward the front window, careful not to make a sound and
• 2:53
  peek through the blinds. A figure stood there, hunched
• 2:56
  over the window, their hands pressed against the glass.
• 2:59
  I ducked down, my pulse pounding.
• 3:02
  Grabbing my phone, I crawled to the corner of the room, out of
• 3:05
  sight. My fingers trembled as I dialed
• 3:08
  911. There's someone trying to get
• 3:11
  into my house, I whispered to the dispatcher, giving her the
• 3:13
  address. Stay on the line, she said
• 3:16
  calmly. Officers are on their way.
• 3:20
  Those minutes felt impossibly long, like they'd never end.
• 3:24
  The scratching grew louder, followed by a dull thud, as if
• 3:27
  they were trying to force the window open.
• 3:29
  I held my breath, clutching a heavy book like it was a weapon.
• 3:33
  Then the noise stopped. I peeked out again.
• 3:37
  The figure was gone. Blue and red lights illuminated
• 3:40
  the street. A few minutes later.
• 3:42
  Two officers knocked on the door and I let them in.
• 3:45
  Still shaking. They searched the property,
• 3:48
  finding nothing but fresh scratch marks on the window
• 3:50
  frame and footprints leading to the back fence.
• 3:54
  Looks like someone was trying to break in, one of them said.
• 3:57
  Probably thought the house was empty, but it's not.
• 4:01
  I replied, my voice cracking. And this isn't the first time I
• 4:04
  felt watched. The officers advised me to stay
• 4:07
  somewhere else for the night. They offered to file a report
• 4:11
  and promised to patrol the area more frequently.
• 4:14
  As they left, one of them looked around the neighborhood and
• 4:16
  muttered. You're brave staying here alone.
• 4:21
  The next morning, I called the host.
• 4:23
  He answered cheerfully, but his tone shifted when I explained
• 4:27
  what had happened. This area has its quirks, he
• 4:32
  said vaguely. Quirks, I snapped.
• 4:36
  Someone tried to break in last night.
• 4:38
  Why didn't you mention the crime in your listing?
• 4:40
  He paused for a moment before finally confessing.
• 4:43
  It's happened before a few times, but it's just part of the
• 4:46
  area's charm, you know? I hung up, my blood boiling.
• 4:50
  I packed my things and left that afternoon, furious at the hosts
• 4:53
  casual attitude toward his guest safety.
• 4:56
  I reported the incident to Airbnb, attaching photos of the
• 4:59
  scratch Marks and a copy of the police report.
• 5:02
  They refunded my stay and said they'd investigate the host, but
• 5:06
  the experience stayed with me. Every time I travel now, I
• 5:10
  research not just the property, but the neighborhood too.
• 5:14
  That house may have looked like a dream in the photos, but it
• 5:17
  turned into a nightmare I'll never forget.
• 5:26
  When you're a photographer, finding the right setting can
• 5:29
  make or break a project, and when I rented this house in
• 5:32
  Denver this past March, I was looking for a space where I
• 5:35
  could relax after hours of trekking around the city with my
• 5:38
  camera. The Airbnb listing seemed
• 5:41
  perfect, affordable and located in a quiet neighborhood.
• 5:45
  The host's description mentioned that the house had two stories
• 5:48
  and a basement with the ladder listed as unoccupied.
• 5:51
  Storage sounded ideal to me. The house itself was charming,
• 5:56
  with wooden floors, a retro kitchen, and a soft couch that
• 6:00
  practically begged me to sink into it.
• 6:03
  Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the first two
• 6:05
  days. I'd spend my mornings out on
• 6:07
  shoots, evenings editing photos, and nights falling asleep to the
• 6:11
  sound of the radiator. It was exactly what I needed.
• 6:16
  Until it wasn't. On the third night, I was
• 6:19
  working late on my laptop when I noticed a soft noise, almost
• 6:22
  like someone moving beneath me. At first I thought it was the
• 6:26
  radiator acting up, but the sound wasn't mechanical.
• 6:29
  It was irregular, like someone dragging something heavy across
• 6:33
  the floor. I paused, listened, and shook it
• 6:36
  off. I figured it must have been the
• 6:38
  house settling, or maybe a neighbor.
• 6:40
  The listing had been clear. The basement was unoccupied, so
• 6:44
  I told myself to let it go. But the next night it happened
• 6:47
  again. This time it was unmistakable.
• 6:52
  I was in the kitchen, heating up leftovers, when I heard the
• 6:55
  distinct sound of wood under pressure.
• 6:58
  My heart skipped. I paused the microwave, standing
• 7:01
  as still as possible to listen carefully.
• 7:03
  The sound came again, this time followed by what sounded like a
• 7:07
  muffled thump. I tried to rationalize it.
• 7:10
  Maybe it was a branch hitting the side of the house, or an
• 7:13
  animal trying to get in, but the sound seemed to come directly
• 7:16
  below my feet. I looked toward the basement
• 7:19
  door at the end of the hall. It was closed, the padlock
• 7:22
  hanging loosely from the latch. Why would the padlock be undone?
• 7:28
  In the morning, I texted the host, mentioning the noises.
• 7:32
  His reply was quick but dismissive.
• 7:35
  Old houses make all kinds of sounds, nothing to worry about.
• 7:39
  The way he spoke so casually rubbed me the wrong way, but I
• 7:42
  didn't push it. That evening I tried to focus on
• 7:46
  editing photos, but the noises started again, this time louder.
• 7:51
  It wasn't just shuffling now I could hear movements, like
• 7:54
  someone pacing. I grabbed A broom and approached
• 7:57
  the basement door. My hand trembled as I turned the
• 8:00
  handle, but the door wouldn't budget.
• 8:02
  It was stuck. I leaned closer, trying to
• 8:06
  listen through the wood. That's when I heard a low, raspy
• 8:08
  cough. I stumbled back.
• 8:11
  Someone was down there. I spent the rest of the night
• 8:14
  barricaded in the bedroom, the door locked, the broom still by
• 8:17
  my side. When morning came, I called the
• 8:20
  host again, this time demanding answers.
• 8:23
  Are you sure the basement is unoccupied?
• 8:25
  I asked. Well.
• 8:27
  He hesitated. Technically there's someone down
• 8:29
  there, but he's harmless. What?
• 8:32
  My voice rose. You said it was empty.
• 8:36
  He's a long term tenant, the host admitted.
• 8:38
  He's been there for years. I don't include it in the
• 8:41
  listing because it scares people off, but I promise he keeps to
• 8:44
  himself. I couldn't believe what I was
• 8:46
  hearing. I hung up, furious and
• 8:49
  terrified. Whoever was in the basement
• 8:51
  hadn't been keeping to himself. He'd been moving around at
• 8:55
  night, listening through the vents and possibly trying to get
• 8:57
  upstairs. That night, I couldn't take it
• 9:00
  anymore. I packed my bags, planning to
• 9:03
  leave first thing in the morning.
• 9:04
  But as I was zipping up my suitcase, I heard the faint
• 9:07
  creak of the basement door. My blood ran cold.
• 9:12
  Slowly, I crept down the hall, peeking around the corner.
• 9:16
  The door was slightly open. I held my breath, backing away.
• 9:20
  The thought of confronting whoever was down there was too
• 9:22
  much. Instead, I grabbed my phone and
• 9:24
  turned on the flashlight, pointing it toward the door.
• 9:28
  A shadow shifted just beyond the threshold.
• 9:31
  Get out, I shouted, my voice shaking.
• 9:34
  I'm calling the police. The shadow didn't move at first.
• 9:37
  Then slowly, the door creaked shut.
• 9:41
  I heard the sound of footsteps retreating down the stairs,
• 9:44
  followed by silence. I didn't wait for morning.
• 9:48
  I grabbed my bags, jumped in the car and speed off into the
• 9:51
  night. The next day I filed a report
• 9:55
  with Airbnb detailing everything that had happened.
• 9:58
  They refunded my stay and assured me they would
• 10:00
  investigate the host. I didn't follow up after that.
• 10:03
  So I don't know what happened to the host, but to this day I
• 10:07
  can't stay in a house with a basement.
• 10:16
  I work some seriously long hours as a nurse, and after what felt
• 10:20
  like the 100th exhausting shift in a row, I decided I needed a
• 10:24
  break, not just a quick nap or a day off.
• 10:28
  I wanted to get away, recharge, and remind myself that life
• 10:32
  existed beyond hospital walls. That's how I ended up booking a
• 10:36
  cabin in Asheville, NC. The listing promised solitude,
• 10:40
  stunning mountain views, and peace, which was exactly what I
• 10:44
  needed. The host, Alan, seemed friendly
• 10:47
  in his messages. He welcomed me to the property,
• 10:50
  said I'd fall in love with the cabin, and let me know I could
• 10:52
  text him if I needed anything. Relax and enjoy, he wrote,
• 10:57
  signing off with a :). He seemed so authentic that I
• 11:00
  didn't see a reason to doubt him.
• 11:04
  The cabin set on the edge of a hill surrounded by woods with
• 11:07
  floor to ceiling windows. It was perfect.
• 11:10
  The air smelled like pine and the quiet was almost deafening.
• 11:14
  After the constant beeping and chatter of the hospital, I spent
• 11:18
  the first evening curled up on the couch with a book, listening
• 11:21
  to the faint sounds of nature. I could finally take a proper
• 11:25
  breath for the first time in weeks.
• 11:29
  The next morning, Alan texted to ask how I'd slept.
• 11:32
  I thought it was a nice gesture and replied.
• 11:34
  Great, the bed's super comfy, thanks for checking in.
• 11:38
  He didn't respond, and I went about my day.
• 11:40
  I spent most of it hiking nearby trails, snapping photos, and
• 11:44
  marveling at how alive the world felt compared to the sterile
• 11:47
  monotony of my job. When I returned to the cabin in
• 11:51
  the late afternoon, another message from Alan popped up.
• 11:55
  Hope you enjoyed the trails. The view from the porch is
• 11:58
  incredible at sunset. It felt a bit weird.
• 12:02
  I hadn't mentioned hiking in our earlier messages, and I hadn't
• 12:05
  told him I plan to spend the day exploring.
• 12:09
  Maybe it was just a lucky guess. I mean, what else do people do
• 12:12
  around here? I tried to forget about it and
• 12:15
  focused on making dinner, distracting myself from
• 12:17
  overthinking. By the third day, Alan's
• 12:20
  messages started to feel intrusive.
• 12:23
  They weren't overtly creepy, but they had this strange
• 12:26
  specificity that made me pause. Did you get a chance to try out
• 12:30
  the rocking chairs on the porch yet?
• 12:33
  They're my favorite spot for coffee in the morning, one read,
• 12:36
  Another said the fireplace is great on chilly nights.
• 12:40
  Bet it feels cozy now. I hadn't mentioned using the
• 12:43
  porch or lighting the fireplace in my updates.
• 12:47
  The cabin was small, so it wasn't exactly hard to figure
• 12:50
  out what I might be doing, but something about his messages
• 12:54
  felt like he was narrating my actions as they happened.
• 12:57
  It made me self-conscious, like I was being watched.
• 13:01
  That evening, as I was settling in with a movie, another text
• 13:05
  came through the couch. Looks comfortable, doesn't it?
• 13:09
  I stared at my phone, feeling my stomach churn.
• 13:13
  That wasn't a guess. I was sitting on the couch right
• 13:15
  then, a blanket draped over me and a mug of tea in my hand.
• 13:19
  I hadn't mentioned this to anyone, let alone Alan.
• 13:23
  I looked toward the large windows that wrapped around the
• 13:25
  cabin. It was pitch black outside, the
• 13:28
  glass reflecting the cozy interior like a mirror.
• 13:32
  But somewhere beyond the darkness, I imagine someone
• 13:34
  standing just out of sight, watching.
• 13:37
  I made an effort to let it go. Maybe Alan had a weird sense of
• 13:40
  humor, or maybe he was just overly familiar with his own
• 13:43
  property and made a lucky guess. Still, I decided to respond.
• 13:48
  Thanks for checking in, I typed. Everything's fine here.
• 13:50
  Really enjoying the stay. After that, it was difficult to
• 13:54
  relax. I avoided looking at the
• 13:57
  windows, afraid I might see someone outside.
• 14:00
  When I finally crawled into bed, my phone clutched in my hand
• 14:03
  like a comforting presence, I woke up around 2:00 AM to a
• 14:07
  noise. It sounded eerily similar to
• 14:10
  someone walking on loose gravel, and I told myself it was just an
• 14:14
  animal. Raccoons, deer, maybe even a
• 14:17
  bear. It was the woods after all.
• 14:20
  I held my breath, my heart thudding loudly as I tried to
• 14:22
  listen. The sound stopped, and the
• 14:25
  silence that followed seemed to smother the room.
• 14:28
  I didn't dare move. I stayed frozen in bed, gripping
• 14:31
  the blanket tightly and staring at the bedroom door, expecting
• 14:35
  it to swing open. Minutes passed, then an hour.
• 14:39
  Finally, Exhaustion 1 and I drifted off again in the
• 14:43
  morning. I tried to convince myself it
• 14:45
  was just an animal, but as I sip my coffee on the porch, I
• 14:49
  couldn't ignore the feeling that something was off.
• 14:51
  I decided to check the area around the cabin, hoping a
• 14:54
  logical explanation would calm my nerves.
• 14:57
  That's when I noticed the footprints leading from the tree
• 15:01
  line to the windows on the side of the cabin.
• 15:03
  My chest tightened as I followed them.
• 15:06
  The Prince stopped near the porch, right beneath the window
• 15:09
  where I'd sat on the couch the night before.
• 15:12
  Whoever had made them had stood there, just outside the glass,
• 15:15
  while I was inside, completely unaware.
• 15:19
  I ran back inside, locking the door behind me.
• 15:22
  My hands shook as I picked up my phone to call Alan, demanding an
• 15:26
  explanation, but before I could dial, another text came through.
• 15:30
  I hope you're finding everything to your liking.
• 15:32
  Let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay more
• 15:35
  comfortable. Something inside me snapped.
• 15:38
  This wasn't paranoia. This wasn't a coincidence, Alan
• 15:42
  had been here watching me and he wasn't even trying to hide it
• 15:45
  anymore. I packed in a frenzy, shoving
• 15:48
  clothes into my suitcase. I didn't care if I left things
• 15:51
  behind, I just needed to get out.
• 15:53
  Throwing my bag into the car, I started the engine and speed
• 15:56
  down the narrow dirt Rd. looking nervously at the rearview mirror
• 16:00
  the entire way. When I reached a gas station
• 16:03
  with cell service, I called Airbnb and reported everything.
• 16:06
  The texts, the footprints, the noises in the night.
• 16:09
  They assured me they'd investigate and offered a full
• 16:12
  refund. I drove straight home.
• 16:16
  A week later, a representative from Airbnb followed up.
• 16:19
  They'd removed Allen's listing and banned him from the
• 16:22
  platform. I learned through a friend in
• 16:24
  law enforcement that Allen had been reported before for similar
• 16:28
  behavior. In another case, a guest had
• 16:31
  caught him creeping around outside late at night.
• 16:35
  I thought I was careful booking a highly rated property with
• 16:38
  glowing reviews, but none of that mattered when the host was
• 16:42
  the threat. Even now, months later, I can't
• 16:46
  book a rental without scrutinizing every detail.
• 16:50
  I always check the reviews, the locks, the windows.
• 16:54
  The thought of being watched, of someone standing just out of
• 16:57
  sight, has turned every vacation into a careful calculation of
• 17:01
  trust and risk. You never really know who's on
• 17:04
  the other side of that friendly text.
• 17:13
  I'd stayed in Airbnb's before, but I'd always gone for private
• 17:17
  rentals, entire apartments or small houses to myself.
• 17:22
  This time, though, I decided to save some money.
• 17:26
  I'd be in Austin for just a few days for a marketing seminar,
• 17:30
  and I didn't think much about booking a shared Airbnb.
• 17:34
  The listing described the host as friendly and respectful, and
• 17:38
  mentioned that guests might share the space with others
• 17:40
  occasionally. Sounded fine to me.
• 17:43
  The house itself was modest, but it had a warm, inviting feel.
• 17:47
  A single story home with a front porch, a small garden, and a
• 17:51
  welcoming yellow door. When I arrived, my roommate for
• 17:54
  the week greeted me at the door. She introduced herself as Kelly.
• 17:58
  She was tall and thin, with long dark hair and a laid back vibe.
• 18:03
  At first look, she seemed perfectly normal, maybe a bit
• 18:07
  quirky. Her clothes were mismatched and
• 18:10
  she had a habit of looking at the ceiling as if she were lost
• 18:13
  in thought. The host wasn't there, but that
• 18:17
  didn't seem unusual. Kelly explained that the host
• 18:20
  often rented out the house while traveling for work and trusted
• 18:23
  guests to come and go. We made small talk for a bit
• 18:28
  before I retreated to my room to unpack.
• 18:31
  That evening, I set up my laptop in the dining area to catch up
• 18:35
  on emails. Kelly sat on the floor in the
• 18:38
  living room, surrounded by candles.
• 18:42
  She didn't have the TV on or any music playing, just a row of
• 18:46
  small flickering flames and a notebook in her lap.
• 18:50
  She caught me looking over. Oh, don't mind me, she said.
• 18:53
  I'm just aligning my energy for the evening.
• 18:56
  I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but I thought it was OK.
• 18:59
  Cool, she chuckled. You probably think I'm weird.
• 19:03
  It's OK, I get that a lot. I'm a witch.
• 19:06
  A witch? I asked, raising an eyebrow.
• 19:08
  Yep. Not the broomstick kind, though.
• 19:10
  She said, winking. More like energy work, rituals,
• 19:14
  that sort of thing. It's harmless, I promise.
• 19:18
  I smiled awkwardly and went back to my laptop, unsure how to
• 19:22
  respond. To each their own, I figured.
• 19:25
  As long as she wasn't sacrificing goats in the living
• 19:27
  room, I could handle a few candles.
• 19:30
  Over the next couple of days, her peculiar quirks became more
• 19:33
  noticeable. Kelly often hummed to herself, a
• 19:36
  strange low melody that didn't sound like any song I'd ever
• 19:39
  heard. She'd spend hours in the
• 19:42
  backyard, talking to herself in a language I couldn't
• 19:45
  understand, while arranging rocks in odd patterns.
• 19:48
  Once, I caught her sprinkling something that looked like salt
• 19:51
  around the perimeter of the house.
• 19:53
  Protection, she explained when she noticed me watching.
• 19:57
  It keeps bad energy out. The strangest thing, though, was
• 20:01
  her suitcase. She kept it in the living room
• 20:04
  instead of her room and never seemed to open it.
• 20:07
  It was old and battered with peeling leather and a rusted
• 20:10
  clasp. 1 evening. I couldn't hold back my
• 20:14
  curiosity anymore and decided to ask.
• 20:17
  Oh, that's just my tools. She said.
• 20:20
  Everything I need for my practice.
• 20:22
  Her tone made it clear she didn't want to elaborate so I
• 20:24
  let it drop on my last night. I returned to the house after
• 20:30
  dinner to find it eerily quiet. Kelly was usually in the living
• 20:33
  room by then, surrounded by her candles or scribbling in her
• 20:36
  notebook. But tonight, she was gone.
• 20:40
  Her belongings, her suitcase, the candles, even the rocks from
• 20:44
  the backyard were still there. But there was no sign of her.
• 20:47
  I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even the backyard.
• 20:50
  Nothing. Her bedroom door was wide open,
• 20:53
  revealing an empty, unmade bed. By this point, I was more
• 20:57
  confused than concerned. Maybe she'd stepped out for a
• 21:01
  late night walk or a last minute errand.
• 21:03
  Still, it was strange that she hadn't taken her things.
• 21:07
  I went to bed. The house felt different without
• 21:09
  her presence, heavier somehow. The next morning, Kelly still
• 21:14
  hadn't returned. I decided to text the host to
• 21:17
  let them know. To my surprise, the response was
• 21:20
  immediate and unsettling. I'm sorry, but I don't know who
• 21:24
  you're talking about, the host wrote.
• 21:26
  There shouldn't be anyone else staying there.
• 21:29
  What did they mean, no one else? Kelly had been here the whole
• 21:34
  time. We talked, shared meals, even
• 21:36
  joked about her rituals. She wasn't imaginary.
• 21:40
  I stared at her suitcase. It was the only thing left of
• 21:43
  her, sitting in the middle of the living room, like a silent
• 21:46
  accusation. Against my better judgement, I
• 21:48
  unlatched the clasp and opened it.
• 21:51
  The smell hit me first, a mix of old leather, earth, and
• 21:55
  something metallic. Inside there were no clothes or
• 21:58
  toiletries, just a jumble of random objects, a bundle of
• 22:02
  dried herbs, a cracked mirror, a small vial of reddish liquid,
• 22:07
  and a stack of handwritten notes.
• 22:10
  The notes were filled with symbols and phrases I didn't
• 22:13
  understand. I slammed the suitcase shut and
• 22:15
  backed away. Who was Kelly?
• 22:18
  Why had the host denied knowing her?
• 22:20
  Grabbing my phone, I called the host.
• 22:23
  Their voice was calm but insistent.
• 22:25
  I swear I haven't rented to anyone else.
• 22:28
  You're the only guest I approved.
• 22:30
  If someone else is there, you need to leave immediately and
• 22:33
  call the police. I didn't need to be told twice.
• 22:37
  I packed my things, my eyes darting to every shadow and
• 22:40
  corner. Was Kelly still here, hiding
• 22:43
  somewhere? Had she been playing some kind
• 22:45
  of twisted game with me? I spent the night in a hotel,
• 22:49
  unable to shake the unease that clung to me.
• 22:52
  The next day I reported everything to Airbnb, from the
• 22:55
  strange rituals to the hosts denial of Kelly's existence.
• 23:00
  They assured me they'd look into it, but I never heard back.
• 23:03
  To this day, I don't know who Kelly really was or what her
• 23:06
  intentions might have been. All I know is that I'll never
• 23:09
  stay in a shared Airbnb again. The thought of someone like her
• 23:13
  slipping into my life, even for a few days still gives me
• 23:18
  chills. If these Airbnb nightmares made
• 23:24
  you rethink your next booking, don't forget to hit that like
• 23:27
  button and subscribe for more spine chilling stories.
• 23:30
  Have you ever had a bizarre or creepy travel experience?
• 23:34
  Share it in the comments. I'd love to hear all the
• 23:36
  unsettling details. Send this video to a friend who
• 23:40
  swears by vacation rentals. They might think twice next
• 23:44
  time. And remember, a high rating
• 23:46
  doesn't always mean a safe stay. Thanks for watching and I'll see
• 23:50
  you in the next nightmare.