I was brushing my teeth when my phone buzzed from an unknown number: “Nice PJs. Smile for me.” I scanned the bathroom and noticed a red blinking light behind the vent. Panicking, I tried to leave, but the door wouldn’t open. Another text: “You’re not leaving yet.”
I tried calling 911, but there was no signal. My message to my friend wouldn’t send. Then another text: “You’re mine for the night.” I threw my suitcase at the vent, knocking the camera loose. Another text: “That was rude.”
I tried escaping through the window, but it was locked. Outside, a shadowy figure watched. Desperate, I smashed the window with a lamp. Just then, the door clicked open, revealing a man who stepped out of the darkness. “You shouldn’t have broken my camera,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Before I could react, someone yanked the man away. I rushed to the door, punched in random numbers, and it opened. I ran to the nearest gas station and called the police. When they arrived at the Airbnb, it was empty. No sign of the man or cameras.
But in my suitcase, a tiny blinking camera was still recording.
