I once had an Airbnb experience that started with quiet unease and ended in total disbelief. It was late—just past midnight—when I noticed something unusual in the corner of the bedroom. A small, black device, subtly placed near the ceiling, facing what appeared to be our bed. My stomach sank. I called my husband over, and after examining it closely, we both agreed—it looked like a hidden camera.

Without speaking much, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom and gently draped it over the lens. We didn’t know what else to do. It felt invasive, unsettling. But we were exhausted, and with few options in the middle of the night, we decided to wait until morning to report it.

But we never made it to morning.

At around 2 a.m., the bedroom door slammed open. The noise was explosive, and for a split second I thought we were being robbed. The Airbnb owner was standing there—wide-eyed, furious, and shouting. “You idiots! That’s not a bedroom camera—it’s to monitor the outside! Why did you cover it?” He was pacing, yelling, gesturing wildly at the covered device.

Still half-asleep, we sat frozen. My husband tried to calm him down, asking him to leave and lower his voice, but the man kept ranting. According to him, the camera was pointed through a small window to the street outside, a detail not at all obvious from inside the room. He told us about multiple thefts in the area—how his car had been stolen right outside the house—and admitted he had become obsessed with surveillance. He even confessed to checking the live feed constantly, unable to sleep at night unless he knew everything was visible and untouched.

Eventually, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. We didn’t go back to sleep.

At first light, we packed our bags and left without saying another word. Even if his explanation was valid—even if the camera truly had been focused on the street—nothing could justify a host storming into a locked room in the middle of the night. It crossed every possible boundary of decency, safety, and privacy. We felt violated, not by the camera itself, but by the way we had been treated.

Later, we left a detailed and honest review. We wanted other guests to be warned—not just about the camera, but about the unhinged confrontation. Out of curiosity, we read through previous guest reviews, and what we found was chilling. We were far from alone. Others had written about similar experiences: the host showing up unannounced, obsessive comments about neighborhood crime, sudden outbursts and erratic behavior.

There seemed to be a pattern. A paranoid pattern.

In hindsight, we understood where his fear came from. Living in an area plagued by theft can make anyone anxious. But anxiety doesn’t give someone the right to violate the personal space and trust of others. Hospitality, especially in a home-sharing environment, comes with responsibility. It demands a sense of respect and safety—for both parties.

What was meant to be a peaceful night away turned into one of the most disturbing travel experiences we’ve ever had. It was a reminder that not all red flags come before check-in. Some show up at 2 a.m., uninvited and shouting.I once had an Airbnb experience that started with quiet unease and ended in total disbelief. It was late—just past midnight—when I noticed something unusual in the corner of the bedroom. A small, black device, subtly placed near the ceiling, facing what appeared to be our bed. My stomach sank. I called my husband over, and after examining it closely, we both agreed—it looked like a hidden camera.

Without speaking much, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom and gently draped it over the lens. We didn’t know what else to do. It felt invasive, unsettling. But we were exhausted, and with few options in the middle of the night, we decided to wait until morning to report it.

But we never made it to morning.

At around 2 a.m., the bedroom door slammed open. The noise was explosive, and for a split second I thought we were being robbed. The Airbnb owner was standing there—wide-eyed, furious, and shouting. “You idiots! That’s not a bedroom camera—it’s to monitor the outside! Why did you cover it?” He was pacing, yelling, gesturing wildly at the covered device.

Still half-asleep, we sat frozen. My husband tried to calm him down, asking him to leave and lower his voice, but the man kept ranting. According to him, the camera was pointed through a small window to the street outside, a detail not at all obvious from inside the room. He told us about multiple thefts in the area—how his car had been stolen right outside the house—and admitted he had become obsessed with surveillance. He even confessed to checking the live feed constantly, unable to sleep at night unless he knew everything was visible and untouched.

Eventually, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. We didn’t go back to sleep.

At first light, we packed our bags and left without saying another word. Even if his explanation was valid—even if the camera truly had been focused on the street—nothing could justify a host storming into a locked room in the middle of the night. It crossed every possible boundary of decency, safety, and privacy. We felt violated, not by the camera itself, but by the way we had been treated.

Later, we left a detailed and honest review. We wanted other guests to be warned—not just about the camera, but about the unhinged confrontation. Out of curiosity, we read through previous guest reviews, and what we found was chilling. We were far from alone. Others had written about similar experiences: the host showing up unannounced, obsessive comments about neighborhood crime, sudden outbursts and erratic behavior.

There seemed to be a pattern. A paranoid pattern.

In hindsight, we understood where his fear came from. Living in an area plagued by theft can make anyone anxious. But anxiety doesn’t give someone the right to violate the personal space and trust of others. Hospitality, especially in a home-sharing environment, comes with responsibility. It demands a sense of respect and safety—for both parties.

What was meant to be a peaceful night away turned into one of the most disturbing travel experiences we’ve ever had. It was a reminder that not all red flags come before check-in. Some show up at 2 a.m., uninvited and shouting.I once had an Airbnb experience that started with quiet unease and ended in total disbelief. It was late—just past midnight—when I noticed something unusual in the corner of the bedroom. A small, black device, subtly placed near the ceiling, facing what appeared to be our bed. My stomach sank. I called my husband over, and after examining it closely, we both agreed—it looked like a hidden camera.

Without speaking much, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom and gently draped it over the lens. We didn’t know what else to do. It felt invasive, unsettling. But we were exhausted, and with few options in the middle of the night, we decided to wait until morning to report it.

But we never made it to morning.

At around 2 a.m., the bedroom door slammed open. The noise was explosive, and for a split second I thought we were being robbed. The Airbnb owner was standing there—wide-eyed, furious, and shouting. “You idiots! That’s not a bedroom camera—it’s to monitor the outside! Why did you cover it?” He was pacing, yelling, gesturing wildly at the covered device.

Still half-asleep, we sat frozen. My husband tried to calm him down, asking him to leave and lower his voice, but the man kept ranting. According to him, the camera was pointed through a small window to the street outside, a detail not at all obvious from inside the room. He told us about multiple thefts in the area—how his car had been stolen right outside the house—and admitted he had become obsessed with surveillance. He even confessed to checking the live feed constantly, unable to sleep at night unless he knew everything was visible and untouched.

Eventually, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. We didn’t go back to sleep.

At first light, we packed our bags and left without saying another word. Even if his explanation was valid—even if the camera truly had been focused on the street—nothing could justify a host storming into a locked room in the middle of the night. It crossed every possible boundary of decency, safety, and privacy. We felt violated, not by the camera itself, but by the way we had been treated.

Later, we left a detailed and honest review. We wanted other guests to be warned—not just about the camera, but about the unhinged confrontation. Out of curiosity, we read through previous guest reviews, and what we found was chilling. We were far from alone. Others had written about similar experiences: the host showing up unannounced, obsessive comments about neighborhood crime, sudden outbursts and erratic behavior.

There seemed to be a pattern. A paranoid pattern.

In hindsight, we understood where his fear came from. Living in an area plagued by theft can make anyone anxious. But anxiety doesn’t give someone the right to violate the personal space and trust of others. Hospitality, especially in a home-sharing environment, comes with responsibility. It demands a sense of respect and safety—for both parties.

What was meant to be a peaceful night away turned into one of the most disturbing travel experiences we’ve ever had. It was a reminder that not all red flags come before check-in. Some show up at 2 a.m., uninvited and shouting.