My Airbnb Had a Strict 'No Opening the Closet' Rule… I Opened It

Chapter 1: The Listing

The cabin’s Airbnb photo showed a charming A-frame nestled in Colorado pines, with a caption that called it "The perfect escape for those needing solitude." After my breakup with Mark—two weeks of crying into wine glasses and deleting seven years’ worth of photos—solitude was exactly what I needed.

I almost missed Rule #1.

It was buried at the bottom of the house rules, bolded and highlighted in crimson:

"DO NOT OPEN THE HALLWAY CLOSET. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES."

I chuckled. Dramatic. Probably hid a broken water heater or the owner’s tax documents.

The host, Deborah, had only two reviews—both five stars, both vague. "Quiet retreat," said one. "Follow the rules," warned the other.

I booked it for a week.

Chapter 2: Arrival

The cabin smelled of pine needles and woodsmoke. Deborah had left a note on the butcher-block counter:

*"Welcome, Jess!

Coffee in the pantry

Firewood on the porch

NO OPENING THE HALLWAY CLOSET

Enjoy your stay!"*

The forbidden door stood halfway down the hall—ordinary white paint, black knob. I jiggled the handle. Unlocked.

What’s the worst that could be inside?

I texted my best friend, Rachel: "My Airbnb host is weirdly obsessed with a closet. Bet it’s full of sex toys."

Rachel replied: "Or a body. Update me if you find bones."

Chapter 3: The First Night

At 3:07 AM, I woke to knocking.

Not the wind. Not branches. Three deliberate knock-knock-knocks from inside the house.

I grabbed my phone, flashlight beam slicing through the dark. The sound led me to the closet.

The door was shut.

As I stood there, the knocking changed—faster, hungrier. Knockknockknockknock.

I backed away.

My phone buzzed. Deborah: "Is everything okay?"

Me: "Heard knocking. From the closet?"

Deborah’s reply was instant: "DO NOT OPEN IT. YOU’RE SAFE IF YOU IGNORE IT."

I didn’t sleep again that night.

Chapter 4: The Second Night

At exactly 3:00 AM, the knocking returned.

This time, the closet door stood ajar.

I hadn’t touched it.

Through the crack: pure blackness. My flashlight beam disappeared into it, like light poured into a black hole.

Then—a whisper, inches from my ear:

"Let me out."

I slammed the door. The impact cracked the frame.

Chapter 5: The Investigation

By daylight, the closet seemed harmless. I documented everything:

No vents or ducts (nowhere for sound to travel from)

No hidden speakers (I checked the walls)

The lock (It didn’t have one. Why warn me if it couldn’t lock?)

I called Deborah. Voicemail.

Then I noticed scratches on the door’s interior side—long, frantic grooves at shoulder height.

Human nails couldn’t make marks that deep.

Chapter 6: The Third Night (The Breaking Point)

I set up my phone to record the hallway.

3:00 AM: The closet door swung open on its own.

The darkness inside moved. Not shadows—something solid and aware.

The whisper came again, this time inside my skull:

"You’ve been so lonely since Mark left."

How did it know his name?

I took a step forward.

The cold hit first—a freezer-burn chill that seared my lungs. Then the smell: wet earth and rotting honey.

Fingers brushed my wrist.

Too long. Too many joints.

I ran, but not before I heard it laugh—a sound like radio static and shattering glass.

Chapter 7: Escape

I threw my clothes into my suitcase and fled.

In the rearview mirror, the cabin’s porch light flickered.

Something stood in the doorway.

Tall. Thin. Watching me leave.

Chapter 8: The Unwelcome Souvenir

Home smelled different. Stale.

When I unpacked, I found:

My clothes

My toothbrush

Deborah’s note—now with added text in red ink:

"It’s part of you now. It only needed a door."

Chapter 9: The New Rule

My apartment closet rattles every night at 3:00 AM.

Last night, the door opened on its own.

Inside, the darkness had shape. A silhouette with too-long arms, its head cocked sideways.

It whispered the same words Deborah used:

"Do not open the closet."

Then it stepped closer.

And smiled.

Chapter 10: Deborah’s Final Message

I emailed her, begging for help.

Her reply:

"The rule wasn’t to protect you from IT.

It was to protect IT from YOU.

Now that it’s tasted your curiosity…

It will always find you."