I booked a hotel for a solo trip. The moment I arrived, I dropped my bags and threw myself onto the bed—exhausted. That’s when I felt something shift beneath me. At first, I thought it was just the springs. But then it moved again. Confused, I got up and looked under the bed. A pair of eyes stared back. A man was hiding there, silently watching me.

I screamed and bolted straight to the front desk. But when I told the staff, they were oddly calm. One of them just said, “That’s terrifying, ma’am, I understand—but please, try to calm down.” Like I was the one overreacting. They claimed they had no idea how he got in. Then they offered me a refund and a free night—as if that would make it okay.

I called the police instead. That night, I left the hotel, shaking and barely able to breathe. Even after checking into a new place, I couldn’t sleep. I kept looking under the bed, behind the curtains, inside every closet.

I later asked the original hotel for compensation. They refused. So I took them to court—and I won. But the money didn’t fix anything. The man under the bed never said a single word. Not when I found him. Not when the police led him away. I still think about those eyes, locked onto mine. And I haven’t had a peaceful night of sleep since.