Horror Stories - 4 Disturbing Airbnb Horror Stories That Will Make You Check the Locks

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Starting point is 00:01:26 Story 1. I was looking for a quiet place to hole up and focus on finishing my article. When I saw an Airbnb a charming house in Savannah, Georgia, I thought I'd struck gold. The photos were gorgeous, with golden light pouring through tall windows, wooden floors, and a little writing nook overlooking a garden. The reviews were excellent, too. Guests praised the host's attentiveness and described the place as a hidden gem. I booked it instantly. A week-long work, A Asian, and a quaint house sounded just right to wrap up my article. I didn't imagine that the charm would stop at the front door. I arrived on a sweltering August afternoon with the car. loaded, one suitcase, my laptop bag, and a folder stuffed with notes. As I turned onto the street,

Starting point is 00:02:15 the excitement began to fade. The neighborhood was nothing like what I had imagined. Instead of cozy little houses and tree-line sidewalks, they were boarded up homes, walls covered in graffiti, and a suspiciously high number of police cruisers circling the area. Maybe I took a wrong turn, I thought as I checked the address. But no, it was there. The house itself did match the images, clean, bright, welcoming. I convinced myself the neighborhood was just a bit rough, and that I'd be spending most of my time inside anyway. Working, I unpacked, set up my laptop in the writing nook,

Starting point is 00:02:54 and tried to settle in. Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Every time I looked out the window, I saw people loitering on the sidewalk and watching the house. Once I even caught a man pacing back and forth across the street looking at my car. One night I was jolted awake by muffled voices outside. I carefully pulled the curtain aside and saw two figures on the sidewalk, pointing toward the house. They didn't seem to see me, and after a few minutes they left.

Starting point is 00:03:24 I told myself they were just passing by. But the next night the unease grew, around 11 p.m. while I was still working, something hit the side of the house. A dull, brief thud, followed by silence. I looked outside, nothing out of place. Even so, the suspicion that someone was out there wouldn't go away. On the fifth night sitting at my laptop, the neighborhood was unusually quiet. A heavy silence that rang in your ears and made you hypersensitive to every creak and scrape. Then I heard a scratching sound.

Starting point is 00:03:57 At first I thought it might be an animal, but it sounded more like someone testing the window frame, a nod formed in my chest. I tiptoed toward the front window, trying not to make a sound, and peered through the blinds. There was a hunched figure by the glass, hands pressed against the window. I dropped down fast, my pulse racing.

Starting point is 00:04:18 I grabbed my phone and crawling to a corner out of sight, dialed 911 with trembling fingers. Someone is trying to get into my house, I whispered to the operator, giving the address. Stay on the line, she responded calmly. Officers are on their way. Those minutes felt endless. The scratching grew louder, followed by a dull thud as if they were trying to force the window. I held my breath and gripped a heavy book as if it were a weapon. Suddenly the noise stopped. I looked again. The figure was gone. A few minutes later, blue and red lights washed over the street. Two officers knocked on the door and I let them in, still shaking. They searched the property and didn't find anyone. but they did find fresh scratch marks on the window frame and footprints leading toward the back fence. Looks like someone tried to get in, one said.

Starting point is 00:05:11 They probably thought the house was empty. But it isn't, I replied, my voice breaking. And it's not the first time I felt watched. The officers recommended spending the night somewhere else. They offered to file a report and promised to patrol the area more frequently. As they left, one looked around and muttered, you've got to be brave to stay here, alone. The next morning I called the host.

Starting point is 00:05:38 He answered cheerfully, but his tone changed as soon as I told him what had happened. Well, this neighborhood has its little quirks, he said evasively. Little quarks? I shot back, irritated. Last night someone tried to break in. Why didn't you mention the crime in the listing? He was silent for a second before admitting. It's happened before a couple of times, but it's part of the area's charm, you know. I hung up boiling with anger.

Starting point is 00:06:08 I packed my bags and left that very afternoon, outraged by the host's casual attitude toward his guest's safety. I reported the incident to Airbnb, attaching photos of the scratches and a copy of the police report. They refunded my stay and said they would investigate the host. But the experience stayed with me. Since then, whenever I travel, I researched not only the property but also the neighborhood. That house might have looked like a dream in the photos, but it turned into a nightmare I'm not going to forget. Story 2 When you're a photographer, finding the right setting can make or break a project.

Starting point is 00:06:50 And when I rented a house in Denver this past March, I was looking for a space where I could relax after hours of roaming the city with my camera. The Airbnb listing seemed perfect, affordable and located in a quiet neighborhood. The host description mentioned that the house had two floors and a basement, the latter being unoccupied storage. It sounded ideal to me. The house itself was lovely, wooden floors, a retro-style kitchen, and a plush couch that practically begged you to sink into it. Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the first two days. I spent my mornings on photo shoots, my afternoon's editing, and my nights drifting off to the hum of the radiator. It was exactly what I needed, until it wasn't.

Starting point is 00:07:38 On the third night I was working late on my laptop when I noticed a soft noise, almost as if someone were moving beneath me. At first I figured it was the radiator acting up, but the sound wasn't mechanical. It was irregular like someone dragging something heavy across the floor. I paused, listened and let it go. I told myself it was the house settling or maybe a neighbor. The listing had been clear. The basement was unoccupied, so I forced myself to drop it.

Starting point is 00:08:07 But the next night it happened again. This time it was unmistakable. I was in the kitchen heating up leftovers when I heard the unmistakable sound of wood under pressure. My breath caught. I paused the microwave and stood still to listen carefully. The noise returned. followed by what sounded like a muffled thump. I tried to rationalize it,

Starting point is 00:08:29 maybe a branch hitting the siding or an animal trying to get in. But the sound was coming from directly beneath my feet. I looked toward the basement door at the end of the hallway. It was closed with a padlock hanging loosely from the latch. Why would the lock be loose? In the morning I messaged the host about the noises. His response was quick but dismissive.

Starting point is 00:08:52 Old houses make all kinds of sounds. nothing to worry about. His breezy tone rubbed me the wrong way, but I didn't push. That night I tried to focus on editing, and the noises started again, this time louder. It wasn't just dragging anymore. I could make out movement, like footsteps. Someone going back and forth, I grabbed a broom and approached the basement door. My hand was shaking as I turned the knob, but the door wouldn't budge.

Starting point is 00:09:20 It was stuck. I leaned closer, trying to listen through the wood. That's when I heard a low rough cough. I stumbled backward. Someone was down there. I spent the rest of the night holed up in the bedroom, door closed, and the broom at my side. At dawn I called the host again, this time demanding answers. Are you sure the basement is unoccupied? Well, he hesitated. Technically, there's someone down there, but he's harmless. What? I raised my voice. You said it was empty. He's a long-term tenant, he admitted. He's been there for years. I don't include him in the listing because it scares people off, but I promise he doesn't bother anyone.

Starting point is 00:10:04 I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I hung up furious and terrified. Whoever was in the basement hadn't stayed on the sidelines. He moved around at night, listened through the vents, and quite possibly tried to come up. That night I'd had enough. I packed my suitcase with the intention of leaving first thing in the morning. But as I zipped it up, I heard the faint creek of the basement door.

Starting point is 00:10:28 A cold chill ran through me. I moved slowly down the hallway and peeked around the corner. The door was ajar. I held my breath and pulled back. The idea of confronting whoever was down there was too much. Instead, I grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight, named it at the door. A shadow shifted just beyond the threshold. Get out, I shouted, my voice shaking.

Starting point is 00:10:53 I'm calling the police. The shadow didn't move at first, and slowly the door creaked shut. I heard footsteps retreating down the stairs and then silence. I didn't wait for morning. I grabbed my things, got in the car, and sped off into the night. The next day I filed a report with Airbnb detailing everything that had happened. They reimbursed my stay and assured me they would investigate the host. I didn't follow up afterward, so I don't know what happened to him,

Starting point is 00:11:20 but to this day, I can't stay in a house that has a basement. Story 3. I was working extremely long shifts as a nurse, and after what felt like the umpteenth exhausting shift, I decided I needed a break. A quick nap or a single day off wouldn't cut it. I wanted to get away, recharge, and remind myself that life existed beyond the hospital walls. That's how I ended up booking a cabin in Asheville, North Carolina. The listing promised solitude, spectacular mountain views, and peace and quiet, exactly what I was looking for. The host Alan seemed friendly in his messages. He welcomed me to the property, said I'd fall in love with the cabin,

Starting point is 00:12:09 and assured me I could message him if I needed anything. Relax and enjoy. He signed off with a smiling emoji. It sounded so genuine that I had no reason to distrust him. The cabin sat on the side of a hill, surrounded by forest with floor-to-ceiling windows, It was perfect. The air smelled like pine, and the silence felt almost deafening after the constant beeping and murmuring of the hospital.

Starting point is 00:12:35 I spent the first afternoon curled up on the couch with a book, listening to the faint sounds of nature. For the first time in weeks, I could truly breathe. The next morning, Alan wrote to ask how I'd slept. It struck me as a thoughtful gesture, and I replied, Great, the bed is super comfortable. Thanks for asking. He didn't respond and I went on with my day.

Starting point is 00:12:59 I spent most of it hiking nearby trails, taking photos, and marveling at how alive the world felt compared to the sterile monotony of my job. When I got back to the cabin in mid-afternoon, another message from Allen popped up. Hope you enjoyed the trails. The view from the porch at sunset is incredible. I found it strange I hadn't mentioned that I planned to go exploring or that I'd been hiking. Maybe it was a good guess. After all, what else do people do out here?

Starting point is 00:13:29 I tried not to dwell on it and focused on making dinner, forcing myself not to overthink it. By the third day, Allen's messages started to feel intrusive. They weren't openly unsettling, but they had a weird precision that made me pause. Have you tried the rocking chairs on the porch yet? They're my favorite spot for morning coffee, one read. Another. The fireplace is perfect on cool nights. I bet it feels cozy right now.

Starting point is 00:13:57 I hadn't told him I was using the porch or that I'd lit the fireplace. The cabin was small so it wasn't hard to guess my activities, but the tone made me feel watched, like he was narrating what I was doing in real time. That night, as I was settling in to watch a movie, another text came through. The couch looks comfortable, doesn't it? I stared at my phone with my stomach churning. That wasn't a guess.

Starting point is 00:14:23 I was sitting on the couch right then, a blanket over my legs and a cup of tea in my hand. I hadn't told anyone that, least of all, Alan. I looked toward the big windows surrounding the cabin. Outside, total darkness. The glass reflected the warm interior like a mirror. But beyond that blackness, I imagined someone standing just out of my sight watching me. I tried to let it go. Maybe Alan had a weird sense of humor, or maybe he knew his property so.

Starting point is 00:14:53 well that he could guess by sheer familiarity. Still, I replied, thanks for checking in. Everything's going well here. I'm really enjoying my stay. After that, I found it hard to relax. I avoided looking at the windows, afraid I'd see someone outside. When I finally got into bed, I held my phone like it was a talisman. I woke around 2 a.m. to a noise, eerily like footsteps on loose gravel. I told myself it was an animal, raccoons, deer, maybe even a bear. We were in the woods. I held my breath, heart pounding to listen more closely. The sound stopped and the stillness that followed seemed to smother the room. I didn't dare move. I stayed frozen clutching the sheets and staring at the bedroom door, waiting for it to burst open. Minutes passed, then an hour. Eventually, exhaustion went

Starting point is 00:15:47 out and I fell back asleep. In the morning I tried to convince myself it had just been an animal, but as I sipped coffee on the porch, the strange feeling didn't go away. I decided to check around the cabin, hoping to find a logical explanation that would calm my nerves. That's when I saw the prints, footprints leading from the tree line to the side windows. My chest tightened as I followed them. The tracks stopped near the porch right below the window where I'd sat on the couch the night before. Whoever left them had stood there, pressed up against the glass while I was inside, completely unaware. I ran inside and threw the deadbolt, hands shaking as I grabbed my phone to call Alan and demand an explanation. But before I could dial, another message came in.

Starting point is 00:16:33 Hope you're finding everything to your liking. Let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable. Something clicked. It wasn't paranoia or coincidence anymore. Allen had been there watching me, and he wasn't even trying to hide it. I packed in a rush, shoving clothes in however I could. I didn't care about leaving things behind. I just needed to go. I tossed my luggage into the car, started the engine, and drove down the narrow dirt road, checking the rearview mirror nervously the hallway.

Starting point is 00:17:05 When I reached a gas station with cell coverage, I called Airbnb and reported everything. The messages, the footprints, the noises and the noises and the... the night. They assured me they would investigate and offered a full refund. I drove straight home. A week later, an Airbnb representative followed up. They had removed Allen's listing and banned him from the platform. Through a friend in law enforcement, I learned he'd already been reported for similar behavior. In another case, a guest had caught him lurking outside late at night. I'd thought I was being careful by booking a place with high ratings and glowing reviews, But none of that mattered when the danger was the host himself.

Starting point is 00:17:45 Even now, months later, I can't book without scrutinizing every detail. I always check the reviews, the locks, the windows. The idea of being watched of someone standing just outside my field of vision has turned every getaway into a meticulous calculation of trust and risk. You never really know who's on the other end of that friendly message. Story 4. I had used Airbnb before, but I always had always. always chose whole place rentals. Apartments or little houses just for me. This time, though,

Starting point is 00:18:21 I decided to save money. I'd only be in Austin for a few days for a marketing seminar, and I didn't think twice about booking a shared Airbnb. The listing described the host as friendly and respectful and mentioned that occasionally guests might share the space with other people. That sounded fine to me. The house was modest but warm, a single-story place with a front porch, a small garden and a welcoming yellow door. When I arrived, my roommate for the week greeted me at the entrance. She introduced herself as Kelly. She was tall and thin with long dark hair,

Starting point is 00:18:57 and she gave off a laid-back vibe. At first glance, she seemed perfectly normal, maybe a little eccentric. She wore mismatched clothes and had the habit of staring up at the ceiling as if she were lost in thought. The host wasn't there, but that didn't strike me as odd. Kelly explained that he often rented the house while he traveled for work and trusted guests to let themselves in and out. We chatted for a bit and then I went to my room to unpack.

Starting point is 00:19:23 That night I set up my laptop in the dining room to catch up on emails. Kelly sat on the living room floor surrounded by candles. She didn't have the TV on her any music. Just a row of small flickering flames and a notebook on her lap. I caught myself staring at her. Don't worry about me, she said. I'm just aligning my energy for the night. I wasn't exactly sure what she meant, but I said something like,

Starting point is 00:19:48 Ah, cool, all good. She laughed. You probably think I'm weird. It's fine, I hear that a lot. I'm a witch. A witch? I asked, raising an eyebrow. Yeah, but not the broomstick kind, she winked.

Starting point is 00:20:05 I work more with energy, rituals, that sort of thing. It's harmless, I promise. I smiled awkwardly and went back. to my laptop, not sure how to react. To each their own, I thought. As long as she wasn't sacrificing goats in the living room, I could tolerate a few candles. As the days went on, her quirks became more obvious. Kelly would hum to herself, a low, strange melody that didn't sound like any song I knew. She spent hours in the backyard talking to herself in a language I couldn't understand while arranging stones and odd patterns. I once caught her sprinkling what looked like salt around the

Starting point is 00:20:41 perimeter of the house. Protection, she explained when she saw me. Keeps the bad energy out. The strangest thing, though, was her suitcase. She kept it in the living room instead of her bedroom and never seemed to open it. It was old and battered with peeling leather and a rusty clasp. One afternoon I couldn't hold back my curiosity and asked about it. Oh, those are my tools, she said, everything I need for my practice. Her tone made it clear she didn't want to elaborate, so I let it go. On the last night I came back to the house after dinner and found it unsettlingly quiet. At that hour, Kelly was usually in the living room, surrounded by candles or writing in her notebook. But that night she wasn't there. Her things, the suitcase, the

Starting point is 00:21:29 candles, even the backyard stones, were still around, but there was no sign of her. I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even the backyard, nothing. Her bedroom door was wide open, showing an unmade, bed. At that point, I was more confused than worried. Maybe she'd gone for a late walk or a last-minute errand. Still, it was strange that she hadn't taken anything I went to bed. Without her presence, the house felt different, heavier somehow. The next morning, Kelly still hadn't shown up. I decided to text the host to let him know. His response was immediate and baffling. I'm sorry, but I don't know who you're talking about, he replied. There shouldn't be anyone else staying there. What do you mean no one else? Kelly had been there the whole time.

Starting point is 00:22:17 We talked, shared meals, even joked about her rituals. She wasn't imaginary. I stared at her suitcase. It was the only thing of hers left, planted in the middle of the living room like a silent accusation. Against my better judgment, I undid the clasp and opened it. The smell hit me first, a mix of old leather, earth, and something metallic. Inside there were no clothes or toiletries, just a jumble of objects, a bundle of dried herbs, a cracked mirror, a small vial with a reddish liquid, and a pile of handwritten notes. The notes were filled with symbols and phrases I didn't understand.

Starting point is 00:22:58 I snapped the suitcase shut and stepped back. Who was Kelly? Why did the host deny knowing her? I grabbed my phone and called him. His voice sounded calm but firm. I swear I haven't rented to anyone else. You're the only guest I approved. If there's someone else there, you need to leave immediately and call the police.

Starting point is 00:23:19 I didn't need him to repeat it. I packed in a rush my eyes jumping from shadow to shadow. Was Kelly still there hiding somewhere? Had she been playing a twisted game with me? That night I slept in a hotel, unable to shake the sticky unease. The next day I reported every day. everything to Airbnb, from the strange rituals to the host's refusal to acknowledge Kelly's existence. They assured me they would investigate, but I never heard anything more. To this day,

Starting point is 00:23:48 I don't know who Kelly really was or what her intentions were. All I know is I'll never stay in a shared Airbnb again. The idea of someone like her slipping into your life, even for a few days, still gives me goosebumps. If these Airbnb nightmares made you rethink your next booking, Don't forget to like and subscribe for more chilling stories. Have you had any weird or unsettling travel experiences? Share them in the comments. I'd love to read all the disturbing details. Send this video to that friend who swears by vacation rentals.

Starting point is 00:24:22 Maybe they'll think twice next time. And remember, a high rating doesn't always mean a safe stay. Thanks for watching and see you in the next nightmare.

Horror Stories - 4 Disturbing Airbnb Horror Stories That Will Make You Check the Locks

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