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🏠Our Airbnb host pretended to be another guest. There was no upstairs.

We booked a small Airbnb in the mountains for three nights. Nothing fancy, one floor, two bedrooms, a wood stove. On day three I went downstairs at 4am for water and the host was standing in our kitchen. He smiled and told me he was 'just another guest staying upstairs.' I know what you're thinking. Yes. There was no upstairs.

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Day one: the listing felt off but cheap

The place was way too cheap for what it was. Two bedrooms, hot tub, mountain view, $58 a night in peak season. My friend Maya found it on a Tuesday and we booked it before lunch because we are exactly the kind of people who don't read reviews. There were three reviews. All five stars. All from accounts created the same week. We laughed about it on the drive up. 'Probably his cousins,' Maya said. The host's name was Eli. His profile said he lived in Denver. The cabin was four hours from Denver in a town with one gas station and zero cell service. We pulled in at sunset. The key was where he said it would be, in a fake rock that wasn't fake. The door was already unlocked.

Day two: someone moved my charger

I'm the kind of person who plugs my phone in the exact same spot every night. Right side of the bed, cord under the pillow, brick against the lamp. On day two I woke up and the cord was on the left side. Not unplugged, not on the floor, just rerouted around the back of the bed to the other outlet. I asked Maya if she'd done it. She looked at me like I'd asked if she'd painted the ceiling. We checked the door. Locked from the inside. Windows latched. Nothing taken. My phone was at 100%. I told myself I'd done it half asleep and forgotten. I'm not the kind of person who does things half asleep and forgets. But I told myself anyway.

The hot tub had been used

We hadn't used the hot tub yet. We were saving it for the last night, classic millennial scarcity behavior. On day two afternoon I went out to take the cover off and the cover was already off. Folded neatly on the deck. The water was warm. Not running-hot, not cold. Used-warm. There was one wet footprint near the steps, bigger than mine, bigger than Maya's. I called Maya outside and she stared at it for a long time. 'Maybe a bear,' she said, which is the kind of thing you say when you don't want to say the real thing. We put the cover back on. We didn't use the hot tub. I didn't sleep great that night.

4am, the kitchen, the man

I went down for water around 4am. The kitchen light was on. Eli, the host, the man from the listing photo, was standing at the counter making tea. He had a kettle. He had a mug. He had a robe. He looked at me, smiled like we'd met before, and said 'oh hey, I'm just another guest staying upstairs, didn't mean to wake you.' I said hi. I said something normal. My brain was screaming because the cabin is one floor. I said 'cool, goodnight' and walked back to the bedroom and locked the door and didn't move until 7am. I checked the listing on my phone. One floor. No loft. No second story. I scrolled back to make sure I wasn't crazy. I wasn't.

Maya saw the door behind the pantry

In the morning Maya was already up. She was standing in the kitchen looking at the pantry, which she had pulled open. Behind the cereal there was a small door. Like a crawl space door, knee-high, painted the same color as the wall. She had not opened it. I did not want her to open it. We opened it. It led to a narrow set of stairs going up. Up to where, exactly, was the question, because from outside the cabin had a flat roof and no second floor and we had walked the whole perimeter on day one taking pictures for the gram. Maya wanted to climb. I said no. She climbed three steps. There was a light on at the top. We heard a kettle whistle.

We left the bags

We left the bags. We left the wine. We left Maya's good boots by the door. We took our phones and our keys and the car and we drove down the mountain at a speed I do not want to publicly admit to. We didn't talk for the first twenty minutes. When we got cell service Maya pulled up the Airbnb listing again and the listing was gone. Not delisted, not unavailable, gone. We tried Eli's profile. Gone. The booking was still in my history but the address field said 'address unavailable.' I called Airbnb support from a Wendy's parking lot and they put me on hold for an hour and then said they had no record of the property and would I like to file a report. I said yes. I am still waiting on the response. That was nine months ago.

What the satellite shows

Maya pulled the address from her email confirmation, the one I forgot Airbnb sends as a backup. She put it into Google Maps. The pin lands on a clearing with no cabin. The satellite is from 2019. There is no roof, no driveway, no hot tub, nothing. We checked the county property records online, the ones you can pull for free. The parcel is owned by an LLC that was dissolved in 2014. We drove back, once, in the daytime, with Maya's brother and his dog. The cabin was there. The fake rock was there. The door was locked this time. The dog wouldn't get out of the car. We didn't knock. We took a picture and we left and the picture, when I looked at it later that night, is just trees.

He messaged me last week

I want to tell you it stopped. It didn't. Last week I got a message on Instagram from an account with no posts and no followers and the username eli_upstairs. The message said 'you left your charger.' That was it. No emoji, no follow up, no second message when I didn't reply. I blocked the account. The next morning the block was gone, like I'd never done it. The account is still there. It still has zero posts. The bio now says 'still upstairs.' I have not been back to the mountains. Maya moved to Portland. We don't talk about it but sometimes she texts me a single emoji, the house one, at 4am, and I know exactly what she means and I never reply.

Ready-to-launch poll prompts

1
What was actually upstairs?
A whole second lifeJust himSomething worseNothing, he's lying
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2
Would you have climbed the stairs?
Hell noYes, with a knifeOnly if filmingAlready running
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3
Real story or creative writing?
100% realInspired by realPure fictionI don't want to know
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4
What's scarier?
The hidden doorThe 4am teaThe instagram dmThe dog refusing to leave car
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5
Would you ever Airbnb again after this?
NeverOnly hotels nowYes but I check reviewsStill booked one yesterday
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Frequently asked

Q.Is this a real story?+

It's posted as a personal account. We can't verify the cabin, the host, or the dm. The Airbnb listing being scrubbed within hours is the part that keeps people up at night.

Q.Did you call the police?+

Yes, the next day, from the next town over. They took a report. They said they'd 'do a welfare check.' They called back two days later and said the address didn't match any structure they could find. They closed the case.

Q.What did Airbnb do?+

After eight weeks of back and forth they refunded the three nights and sent a generic 'we take safety seriously' email. They could not produce records of the host or the property. They asked me not to post about it.

Q.Why didn't you just leave the first night?+

Because the charger thing felt like nothing, the hot tub felt like a bear, and we'd driven four hours. By the time it was actually scary we were already in it. Hindsight is a hell of a drug.

Q.What was upstairs?+

I don't know. I will never know. Maya thinks he was living up there the whole time and renting the downstairs to fund it. I think it's something I don't want a name for.

Q.What happened to the charger?+

I bought a new one. The dm last week was the first time anyone has mentioned it. I have not been back to the mountains and I do not plan to go.