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This podcast brings to you a collection of scary stories from all over Africa. Are they real or just myth? You'll have to ask the scared student, the passer-by or even the crying child who all swear by what they saw #reallifemeetsfiction
Castle of good hope
Now those of you from south africa are probably familiar with this place I’m about to mention, but for those of you who are not, this place is said to be the oldest colonial building in south africa. It is called the castle of good hope and was built in the 17th century. Now back to my South Africans, or rather more specifically those from cape town. No doubt if you are familiar with this place, you just felt a tingle go down your spine. From what I now know about this place, I can understand exactly why. The Castle of good hope was said to be inhabited by a host of ghosts and boy oh boy did I find out the hard way.
I visited South Africa in 2008 while volunteering for a wildlife not-for-profit organisation in Cape Town. It was my first time being on the African continent and I was super excited to explore everything when I had the time. I had made a list of places that I wanted to see and one place in particular stood out for me. The Castle of Good Hope. During my research, I stumbled upon this place which was said to be haunted by all sorts of things. From ex governors to big dogs. Being a big fan of anything supernatural or even remotely scary, I absolutely had to check this place out. Now did I believe it was actually haunted by these things? Absolutely not, but it was exciting to see why people thought it might be.
My time in Cape Town turned out to be a lot busier than I thought it would be. There was so much to do for work and I didnt get to do much exploring in the initial weeks. But 4 weeks into my stay there, I was finally going to tick the Castle of Good Hope off my list. I remember this day like it was yesterday. It was Thursday and I had been given the day off work. The castle opened to visitors at 09:30am and by 09:15 I was already waiting outside.
The sky was a washed-out blue, streaked with slender, elongated clouds. The crisp morning air was tinged with a salty hint of the nearby sea, and the crowd had not yet descended upon the monument. Alone in the quiet, I was left to admire the impressive structure before me. Built by the Dutch East India Company, the pentagonal fortress stood stolidly, weather-beaten stone walls whispering tales of bygone times.
I had packed a small backpack with water, a few snacks, my notepad, and of course, my camera to capture the experience. As the large, iron gates swung open, a sense of thrill coursed through me. Ghosts or no ghosts, the history of this place had a story to tell.
The tour started with a history lesson about the castle, its construction, and its use over the years. We wandered from room to room, each offering a fascinating snapshot of history and culture. The deeper we delved into the castle, the chillier and denser the atmosphere seemed to grow. We were led to the dungeon where prisoners were once held, and I could swear I heard a murmur of voices echoing off the stone walls.
A soft sigh escaped me. Despite my fascination with the supernatural, my logical side kept a firm grip on reality. Until we arrived at the bell tower. As the tour guide told the tale of a soldier who hung himself there and whose spirit was said to still ring the bell, I glanced up at the structure. Could it be true? With a slight shake of my head, I dismissed the thought. It was just a tale after all.
The group dispersed after the tour. Many went to the café, others to the gift shop. But I found myself pulled back towards the bell tower. I climbed the old wooden stairs, the worn steps creaking under my weight. Standing beneath the bell, I felt a certain calm, almost a surrender to the centuries-old tales. Did I believe them now? I still wasn't sure, but as I stood there in the silence, I...
Wait, did I just hear something? The bell had... tolled? No, it couldn't be. I looked around, half expecting to see a tour guide with a smirk playing upon his lips. But I was alone. A chill, unrelated to the cold stone walls around me, crept up my spine. Was it the wind? Surely, it was just the wind.
The silence was shattered by footsteps echoing through the hollow halls, followed by hushed, indistinct voices, as if from a windowless dungeon far beneath. These were sounds that shouldn't exist, in a place where the living hadn't tread in centuries.
As I descended back into the castle, I began to feel a growing sense of unease. The corridor seemed longer, the echoes of my footsteps louder. I was sure I heard the distant sound of a man and a woman arguing, their voices growing louder as I neared the guard's room. A quick peek revealed an empty room. Maybe it was just my imagination.
Then, I saw it. Or rather, him. Standing in the corridor was the spectral figure of Governor Pieter Gijsbert van Noodt. His eyes bore into me, filling the air with a cold, bitter anger. "You trespass in my dominion," he hissed, his voice echoing through the castle, "Now, you shall remain here... forever."
The realisation hit me - the stories were all true. And now, Van Noodt wanted to make me a permanent resident of the castle. Fear gripped me, and I turned to run, but the doors had vanished, replaced by cold stone.
Panic surged through me. In my attempt to escape, I found myself running deeper into the castle, stumbling into a courtyard. A spectral figure of a woman suddenly appeared before me, Lady Anne Barnard, her ghostly form fading away as quickly as it had appeared.
As I ran, I saw a luminous figure leaping off the castle walls, disappearing just before hitting the ground. The stories were true. The castle was haunted. And I, in all my foolishness, had walked right into it.
My desperate escape led me back into the castle, only to be met by the figure of the black dog, lunging at me before dissipating into thin air. I knew then I needed to get out. Rounding a corner, I saw a window, my only chance. With Van Noodt's bitter curses echoing behind me, I clambered out of the window, landing heavily on the dew-drenched grass.
Panting, I turned back to look at the Castle of Good Hope. Its haunting beauty now seemed sinister. I had escaped, but the ghosts had been real, and I had nearly been trapped in the castle forever, a prisoner of Van Noodt. It was a lesson I would not forget. The world was indeed more mysterious, and more terrifying, than I had ever imagined.