Ghostly Guest

Ghostly Guest - a true story by Will Husselmann

Late on a quiet Sunday night i was cruising down Somerset road, Greenpoint, in a police vehicle. Then, the radio crackled into life and the operator asked if there was any unit close to the Tudor Hotel in Cape Town that could assist with a tresspassing complaint.

I volunteered to assist, seeing that i was in the vicinity. Within seconds i was at the scene, expecting just another run of the mill tresspassing complaint. Walking into the hotel's foyer i was met by a rather nervous looking middle aged woman. She promptly informed me that an unusually big black man minutes ago walked into the hotel, grabbed the keys of an unoccupied hotel room, proceeded up the stairs and unlocked the first room at the top of the stairs, then went into the room and locked it behind him.

She described him as rather handsome, clean shaven and dressed in evening wear. My mind painted a picture of someone looking like King Tsaka.
Very seriously she pointed out her witnesses to this, for her, major crime in progress. There was a German couple, confirming in broken english the whole story. Then there was a security guard on duty at the door, an ironing lady and two other members of the staff, all enthusiasticly confirming the events described by the receptionist.

I was shown to the room into which the unwelcome guest booked himself.
I knocked on the door and demanded in a stern voice that the tresspasser must immediately open the door and come out. There was no response. My partner, sergeant Van Eyssen, then pointed out that someone in the room was switching the light in the room on and off. I saw that this was indeed so. The receptionist then handed us a key that was supposed to be a "skeleton key". As my partner tried to unlock the door, he met with some resistance in the keyhole. As i switched on my torchlight and focused it on the keyhole, we saw that someone on the inside was feeding broken matches into the keyhole opening. I warned the tresspasser that if he did not come out immediately, he would definitely be arrested and locked up. This was met by a resounding silence.

The next moment the silence was unerringly shattered by the shrill sound of the phone at the reception desk. We all looked at the receptionist as she was answering the phone. Her complexion turned an ashen white. She stammered out that the call came from the room where our unwelcome guest was.

This did not sound like a major issue to us, until she informed us that the line from our guest's room was not connected and that there was in fact no telephone in that room. Spooky indeed.

I then found out that the only other way of entering the room was possibly by way of removing the french louvre glass panes in the ironing room. The glass panes looked like they were last dusted in the previous century. I proceeded to remove the panes. After about twenty minutes there was a big enough space for me to climb through. I climbed through the opening. The lights was on in the room. There was no one in the room. There was no phone in the room. I looked under the bed. I looked everywhere. No one.

I then started walking towards the bathroom, adrenaline flowing, pistol drawn, sweating and on edge. As i entered the bathroom, the shockwave of disbelief and relief hit me at the same time. Completely empty, not a soul. When i opened the room from the inside and informed my partner of what i found, he did not believe a word i told him. He searched the room himself, even more thoroughly than i did.

Three of the staff told the receptionist that they were quitting and would not return. We left the hotel with our hair standing on end and our beliefs shaken.

After we reported this outcome some fellow police officers jokingly called us "the ghostbusters". One year after this, Nelson Mandela was freed and the whole of South Africa was turned on its head and would never be the same again.

Maybe, just maybe, Tsaka Zulu paid the mother city a visit that fateful Sunday evening, knowing what would happen a year later.