Saturday, September 23, 2017
A row of four transmitter arrays stretch across the horizon, broadcasting strange signals across the Horsingdon landscape, blanketing it with the distorted drone of uncanny audio waveforms which squirm and writhe through the airwaves like aberrant aural organisms filled with malign agency.
The plastic casings of portable radios bubble and blister in the vicinity of these towers, and the dreams of nearby residents are haunted by the sounds of alien chords and monstrous notes - chords and notes whose reverberations threaten to disturb and call forth the nameless, slumbering inhabitants of those unplumbed zones of inconceivable horror which they nightly unlock.
Friday, September 22, 2017
A newly-constructed windowless warehouse has appeared aside the towpath of the Grand Union Canal, where it passes through Horsingdon: the thrum of hidden machinery emanates from somewhere nearby, filling the air with a strange metallic tang; sinister figures, dressed in black paramilitary fatigues and wearing gas masks, are said to patrol its grounds at night, their passage lit by the migraine-inducing actinic glow of numerous spotlights; time seems to distort around here, whilst language unaccountably reassembles into incomprehensible alien syllables which cut the air.
And from within, the sound of something vast shifting fitfully in its aeon-long, deathless slumber.
Thursday, September 21, 2017
This immense transmitter array overlooks a virtually deserted industrial estate in the desolate hinterland between Horsingdon and Trentford. Meteorogical conditions - aided, no doubt, by the astringent chemical pollutants spewed out from nearby factories - have had a curious effect on the structure, causing its steel beams to take on an oily, blackish sheen.
The Black Tower prevails regardless, mindlessly transmitting its droning, monotonous signal throughout the landscape, and into the unreverberate blackness of the abyss.
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
The tower on the side of this building was the site of James Boreham's occult laboratory in the days leading up to his disappearance. Today the tower remains empty: an attempt to renovate the interior as office space met with resounding failure as the various ventures which rented the space quickly went out of business, or moved to other premises after only a few short months.
Many who have visited the place since Boreham's passing have described being stricken by a profoundly vacuous despondency within its confines; whilst there have been no reported apparitions or spectral manifestation within the tower, it reeks of stretched, dessicated time and malign desolation - a space weighted with the unbearable psychic pressure of an utter isolation and remoteness which threatens to diminish and ultimately extinguish the consciousness of those who ccupy it.
Thus does Horsingdon's past continue to haunt its present - and presage its terminal future.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Four strange lights descend in formation, flanked by a larger pulsating orb, behind the rooftops of houses which stand at the edge of Horsingdon Woods. Such displays are familar to the folk who live around Horsindon Hill and its neighbouring wood and, whilst old tales speak of how the frequency of manifestation of these 'Horsingdon Lights' typically increases during times of uncertainty - or when great danger threatens - which of us can truly say we have ever lived in times when it was not always so?
In any case, for the people of Horsingdon, apocalypse has always lurked just a whisper away: in the monstrous aftermath of devilish folk like James Boreham; in the horrific conjurations of the guardians of the Black Bowers; and in the fearful things which haunt wood and hill on nights when the Horsingdon Lights are seen descending.
Monday, September 18, 2017
There is an old piece of Horsingdon lore concerning 'Witchnails': ritual artefacts supposedly crafted from the fingerbones of hanged witches, and once used by members of the Horsingdon Coven to 'steal the shadow' of those who had offended them either in word or deed. The Witchbones would typically be employed aetherically to 'pin' the unsuspecting victim's shadow to that terrible, praeternatural otherwold which is the habitation of Those Who Wait - following which the miscreant's dreams would forevermore be haunted by monstrous portents and malign visions, eventually driving them to madness and death.
It is also said that the guardians of the Black Bowers wilfully undergo this ordeal as an iniatory rite of passage, with only those possessing force of will to assimilate the nightly visions of horror without allowing their sanity to crumble entirely being formally inducted into that strange and recondite order. Needless to say, knowledgeable as they are in the use of Witchbones, few are willing to anger or antagonise the guardians of the Black Bowers.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
Most who have seen the image consider it to be nothing more than a monstrous hoax; others amongst the older residents of the region - having witnessed many strange and unaccountable things in their time - are more circumspect about the matter.