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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.
