The host had replied:
“You idiot, this is not a camera. It was the transmitter for our private security system. Now you’ve broken it—and they’re coming looking for it.”
Them? A chill ran down my spine. I flipped back through the photos I’d taken of the rental property for evidence. That’s when I noticed it—in one photo, just behind the curtain, a faint red dot glowed against the wall. A laser. A tracking device.
It dawned on me that this wasn’t just a creepy host filming guests.
Something bigger was happening.
We watched. Gathered. Waited. We didn’t go back. We didn’t even call the host back.
Instead, we drove for three hours to a city hotel, and then I smashed the cheap phone I had used to book the place.
I reported it to the police the next morning, but part of me wondered if it would even matter.
That night, as I lay awake with my wife next to me, I realized something: security is fragile.
We trust in 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 flashing light is not just a warning. It’s a trap.
