I think I got scammed, and it almost killed me.

The listing said ‘Private cabin retreat, not another living soul around for miles’. I guess technically, it wasn’t wrong.

Yes, there were plenty of red flags, but this was my first vacation by myself, so I thought I was just being overly paranoid.

The drive up was quiet and uneventful, but I got there much later than I’d hoped. It was nearly dusk as I pulled into the long and winding dirt road leading to the cabin. The entryway was shrouded in tall trees and for a moment I thought I saw someone watching me from just behind the tree line, but I looked back and there was no one there. I told myself I must have imagined it, I’d just seen one of the shifting shadows from the setting sun among the heavy foliage.

When I’d first entered the address into my navigation app, I was disappointed to see the address was for a campground – the host had apparently cropped the image on the listing to make it look like a lone cabin.

I wasn’t all that surprised, though – the place was ridiculously cheap and one of the few rentals in the area that were available at the time. After the figure I thought I’d seen on the drive up, plus the way the trees nearly choked out what was left of the sun, I wasn’t upset at the idea of not being totally alone.

I double checked the instructions I’d printed to find the combination to the lock box and the notes, some of which were a bit odd:

• You may not check out early
• Pool open to guests
• There are great hiking trails in the woods!
• Enjoy your stay! (Please take the trash out before you leave)
• The pool is open to guests

From the middle of the camp, there was an ancient looking paved trail, cracked and uneven, that wound around the perimeter through the dense trees. The area itself was beautiful but as I walked along, I passed cabin after cabin in varying states of disrepair. Some had warped wood and caved in roofs, others had missing doors and rotted steps, one was nothing but the remains of a foundation.

There had been other cars in the parking lot, but it was eerily quiet, there wasn’t another guest in sight.

The absence of any living person was a presence in itself that loomed over the place. It didn’t feel peaceful at all – it was unnerving.

I’d wondered if I had stumbled upon an old listing somehow (though they had certainly accepted my reservation and money). I was about to turn back when I spotted it in the distance, the cabin from the pictures. It looked well cared for, unlike the others.

I saw movement from the corner of my eye and jumped – already on edge – after a moment I realized what it was: the remnants of a torn curtain fluttering along with the breeze through the busted-out window of the cabin next door. All of the other cabins looked to be vacant, the darkness within apparent through blank and shattered windows.

I felt an awful creeping apprehension, and I strongly debated just leaving, but it was almost dark and I didn’t feel comfortable driving through dark woods at night, especially with nowhere else to stay. I figured I’d head out in the morning.

A bit further down from my cabin, I could see an old pool that I doubt had seen a swimmer in decades. Worn out looking children’s toys, shoes, trash, and other debris from the campsite littered the bottom of the deep end, sun bleached and long forgotten. A wide and streaky rust colored stain painted one of the walls and bottom of the cracking plaster, ending at the the pile of abandoned items.

I thought of the ‘Pool open to guests’ note from the host – I guessed they had a weird sense of humor.

Other than the screech of rusted hinges when I opened the door, the cabin was in good condition, although the décor looked to have last been updated in the 1970s. While looking around for a bit, I found a few dust-covered items that looked to be accidentally left behind by the previous guest and made a mental note to let the host know. I sat inside for a while, looking out at the grounds and woods around me. For a moment, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the pool filled with dark water, multiple pale and thin figures standing in it up to their shoulders, but when I turned to look it was empty. Just like it had always been. I assured myself I was just imagining things.

The solitude was even more apparent after the sun had fully set. Far removed from the lights of nearest town, and with the moon drowned out by clouds, the campsite was blanketed in a level of darkness unlike anything I had ever experienced before. That, coupled with the silence made me feel completely alone in world. The only sounds I’d occasionally hear were the wind through the leaves and the occasional soft slosh of moving water.

I decided to call a friend just to hear another human voice, but I had no reception on my phone and the old rotary phone in the kitchen didn’t work – I didn’t even get a dial tone.

Already regretting my decision to stay, I turned in early, hoping the night would pass quickly. I wondered if they’d give me a refund on the other two nights, but based on their note about not checking out early, figured probably not.

I had almost fallen asleep when I heard it, the taptaptap and scraping against the window. It didn’t concern me at first, I assumed the wind had picked up and I was hearing one of the many trees surrounding the cabin.

But then, I heard the protest of the metal hinges of the front door. I bolted upright – I must have forgotten to lock it behind me.

The old wooden floorboards of the kitchen creaked under the weight of whomever had come inside.

I locked the bedroom door and grabbed my phone only to remember that I had no service. Unsure of what else to do, I pushed the only other piece of furniture in the room in front of the door and wedged myself under the bed.

Their steps sounded wet… and made an awful squelching sound on the carpet in the hallway. The sound of their footsteps became louder. Closer.

The intruder paused.

A door opened further down the hall, one of the other bedrooms.

Another set of footsteps continued on even after the first had paused – there were more than one of them.

Methodically, slowly, I heard someone enter each room, walk around it, leave. They were working their way down the hall, closer and closer to the room I was in.

I really thought I was experiencing what were to be my final moments on this earth.

Taptaptap.

That time, it came from my bedroom door, and in the closer proximity I could hear the scrape of long nails on the rough wood.

They turned the handle and I held my breath, hoping the flimsy looking lock would hold.

When it didn’t open, they alternated between tapping at the door and slamming against it.

I heard the slow and deliberate steps of one of them leaving and not long after, the tapping on the window resumed. Sometimes I’d hear the painfully shrill sound of something sharp being dragged along the glass.

I spent every moment of that night wide awake, with my heart pounding in time with the taps at the door and windows.

It was nearly dawn when I finally heard the last pair of footsteps fade into the distance, the front door open and close for the last time. I waited another couple of hours, for the sun to be high above the horizon, before I felt brave enough to open the bedroom door.

I somewhat expected someone to be out there, quietly and patiently waiting for me – but there was nothing to indicate there had ever been anyone there at all except for the dried muddy footprints all over the wood floors, and the still damp carpet. I gathered my things as fast as I could.

Outside, I could see where the prints continued, they circled my car multiple times, made trips to and from the bedroom window. I saw that they originated from and ended at the long-dry pool, into which they disappeared.

I noticed something else odd about the prints; they were misshapen. They looked to be made by bare feet, but the proportions were off – the image they suggested resembled no feet I had ever seen before.

I loaded everything back in the car as fast as I could, I didn’t even look back in my rearview mirror.

As soon as I felt safe and had reception, I went to message the host, both to ask for a refund and to let them know what happened.

They never responded to me. I decided to contact the company but noticed that the listing had been removed.

Not long after, though, it was back up again. I filed a complaint, but it took a month for it to get taken down. I’m still not sure if it’ll show back up again.

I wanted to share my experience, to encourage people to make better decisions than I did. If things don’t feel right, please don’t ignore the red flags.

And, if you see this listing, do NOT book it.