Whatever the nature of said project, apparently none of the individuals depicted here lived to see it to its end; one can't help but speculate - given the seriousness of their expressions - as to whether the research which these men and women were engaged in had perhaps already provided some intimation of the terrible place to which it would ultimately lead them.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Whatever the nature of said project, apparently none of the individuals depicted here lived to see it to its end; one can't help but speculate - given the seriousness of their expressions - as to whether the research which these men and women were engaged in had perhaps already provided some intimation of the terrible place to which it would ultimately lead them.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Horsingdon Vicarage has stood empty nigh on five decades now, since the untimely death of the previous inhabitants: one Joseph Penderton and his family. During his residence at the vicarage, Penderton uncovered strange markings carved into the stonework of the floor of the building's cellar. His diary recounts that subsequent investigations led to a momentous discovery of something below the cellar - although he is highly circumspect as to the nature of this something. In any case, a few days later, Penderton had killed his wife and daughter (in what was described in police reports as a ritualistic manner), before hanging himself.
Needless to say, the ghost of Penderton is said to haunt to building, manifesting as a slack-jawed, and dead-eyed spectre of a spectacularly mindless demeanour. Other stories tell of how, if one encounters the ghost and looks into those dead eyes, the percipient will be vouchsafed a glimpse of the maddening knowledge which caused Penderton to murder his family before taking his own life.
No one has yet found the strange markings mentioned in Penderton's diary, and whose original discovery seemingly precipitated the whole sorry affair.
Saturday, October 14, 2017
A Ministry installation not far from the Grand Union remains permanently cloaked within the noisy hum of strange machinery - a hum which on occasion grows in intensity to drown out other, less reconisable sounds which sometimes emanate from within the vast and unknown depth of this nameless, windowless structure.
Friday, October 13, 2017
An accelerative shift favouring hauntological static has been notable in the balance of signal-to-noise where Horsingdon's transmitter arrays have been concerned. In a matter of a few short days, the airwaves have been subject to unprecedented colonisation by strange and hyperstitial aural spectralities; they have spread with a mutable, liquid velocity, transforming even the most benign transmissions into a source of disquiet and dread: the parochial, comforting voice of a well-loved presenter becomes malign, distorted, and suggestive of terrible secrets; children's hour echoes with the fairytale sing-song horror of sinister and forgotten Machenesque languages - symbol-sounds resonant with the signification of an unspeakable witchlore; the afternoon play strectches on endlessly, the voices of the actors becoming sparse and faint, as if lost within the vast and hollow confines of a recording studio whose cobwebbed walls have come to encompass a whole, haunted universe...
All of this is unsurprising. Such things are anticipated - expected, even - as All Hallows Eve steps another day closer to the borders of Horsingdon.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Shapeless, coherent light irradiates one of Horsingdon's alleyways with luminescent horror. The amorphous, glowing mass was witnessed crawling from out a circle of red chalk etched in the pavement by the side of an old brick wall - one bearing upon its wretched facade a spray-painted sigil of sinister demeanour. Fortunately, the thing dissipated - harmlessly, one hopes - soon after this photograph was taken.
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
The guardians of the Black Bowers - alongside other of Horsingdon's esoteric and psychogeographic hucksters and dilletantes - have, in recent months, been marking out the occult topographies of the region's urban spaces through a series of strange sigils, cryptic ideograms, and other highly abstracted systems of arcane hieroglyphics. That these symbols appear mostly at locations of notable disrepair and urban decrepitude perhaps indicates that they pertain to some hitherto hidden or as-yet unformed cosmology of ruination and decay.
There is, however, amongst these forms an occasional resemblance (albeit in a modified and modernised form) to certain highly secretive systems of signification associated with Those Who Wait - and with other veiled canons of occult knowledge linked to the denizens of those abysmal, hyperdimensional zones of entity and being which lie far outside the conceptual framework of minimally-sapient hairless primates.
Exactly why these sigils have begun appearing in the streets and alleys of Horsingdon remains unclear. But what is certain is that they herald the approach of nothing which the folk of Horsingdon would ever wish to countenance.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Four guardians of the Black Bowers conduct business under cover of the pre-dawn mist upon one of Horsingdon's Neolithic mounds. In the folklore of the region, such a convocation only occurs when the guardians seek to enter into direct communication - usually for some sinister purpose - with Those Who Wait; the old tales typically recount such attempts as ending disasterously.
In any case, the subjects of the above image were apparently known to the photographer; soon after the photo was taken, the four men apparently walked calmly and in single file into the nearby Horsingdon Woods - and therafter were never again seen in Horsingdon or its adjacent parts.
Monday, October 09, 2017
St. Stephen's Church in Harlow. Legend holds that the foundations of the church were originally laid upon the remnants of an old Roman temple at which nameless rites had once been performed; legend also maintains that during the 17th Century members of the Horsingdon coven would meet in the church's crypt, where they would make the Sign of the Goat, utter the Three Unspeakable Names, and call forth the Black Man of the Sabbat. That dread entity, it is said, always leaves its mark at the sites of its manifestation; indeed, there have been regular reports of the smell of sulpher in the crypt, and of a tall, shadowy shape which haunts the nave of St. Stephen's church - and which has been known to induce madness in those who have had the misfortune to encounter it.
Sunday, October 08, 2017
One previous occupant even described in his diary - discovered shortly after this unfortunate individual's mysterious disappearance - the existence of an extensive series of cellars and sub-cellers leading hundreds of feet below the house, culminating in a cathredral-sized grotto within which the narrator apparently discovered an 'Infinite Staircase' which apparently wended its way through 'those Lower Realms of which I dare not speak'.
Needless to say, no subsequent survey of the property has provided evidence of such cavernous subterrenean delvings; there has, however, been significant disagreement as to the exact dimensions of the house as provided by the various surveys to which it has been subjected over the years - including one notable claim that the building seemed to be endowed with a greater internal volume of space than the external measurements would allow for.
There is nothing else really to say about the matter, other than to mention the fact that, unsurprisingly, records indicate that the house was originally built by James Boreham.
Saturday, October 07, 2017
Strange particles bursting upon the stratosphere turn the Autumnal skies of Horsingdon a sodium orange - precipitating a sudden and unexpected thunderstorm.
Some residents claim they can hear monstrous howlings interwoven with the roar of superheated air, as something unspeakable the size of continents grinds its vast apocalyptic bulk against the meagre walls of this world, seeking purchase, seeking ingress.
Friday, October 06, 2017
This image purports to show a site not far from Northala Mound which was being excavated by the Ministry sometime in the late 1950s. Note the curious apotropaic markings carved into the earthworks at the far edge of the site near the bottom of the photograph. There are no accesible records - or any other tangible evidence - which recount the purpose or indeed the aftermath of the dig; nor is the site readily identifiable today. All one can say about the matter is that - hopefully - nothing untoward has been roused by these curious delvings.
Thursday, October 05, 2017
St. Joseph's Church in Trentford has remained closed for the best part of three decades - although it has not, as yet, been deconsecrated. Its closure coincided with the disappearance of the parish priest and a number of his congregation, all of whom participated in black magical rites conducted in a basement beneath the church. Or so it is rumoured.
It is also rumoured that during one such rite, this heterodox group called up a formless shape from some nameless abyss which they lacked the skill or knowledge to put down: something which to this day prowls the nitrous cellars beneath the church, alone but for the bones of those who brought it into this world; something whose mournful howls rise forever upwards, unanswered, through the vast black emptiness of space.
Wednesday, October 04, 2017
Some places exude spectrality: it has become the fundamental constituent of their being - even though they were not always this way. A lonely row of shop fronts, long ago abandoned and boarded, form an eyesore along the otherwise leafy and suburban Bridgewater Avenue. Yet their anomalous status is not so much a condition of their disrepair, but because bypassers sense their inherently unnerving, spectral quality. It is a quality which, like their abandonment, was produced epiphenomenally out of something terrible which once occured here: an operation so inconceivable in its unnaturalness that it effected a monstrous transformation upon the intangible substance of the real: an alchemy of horror.
No one remembers who once owned the shops; neither is there any local memory of what was once purveyed within their walls; nor are there any extant local scraps of folklore which recount their haunting - surprising for a place like Horsingdon, whose every side alley seems to possess its own ghost or tale of terror.
But perhaps it is best that such things remain unbidden and unremembered, lest recollection calls forth the liveliest awfulness of that which, for the time being, can only be sensed and intuited uneasily.
Tuesday, October 03, 2017
Boreham Park Station on Bridgewater Road is overlooked by Horsingdon Hill, and is a stone's throw from the Park itself.
Whilst the station platforms are above ground at street level, they are connected by an underpass of classic London Underground design, tiled in the colours of the Piccadilly Line (at whose suburban hinterlands Boreham Park Station sits). Midway along this underpass one encounters a locked iron gateway, blocking entrance to another tunnel - one which leads even deeper downwards to a room which always appears to be very brightly lit - so much so that its is impossible to discern the overall shape or contents if the room. The light which emanates from that place often seems to flicker and pulse in odd ways, such that the casual observer can sometimes be left thinking that there are shifting shapes or figures trapped behind that blindingly uncanny luminescence.
Station staff remain reticent when questioned on the matter. Most of them seem to have been resentfully employed at the locale for decades, such that one wonders if they were sent there for some past yet unnameable infraction - perhaps being forced to wait out the rest of their working lives as the guardians of a deadly secret...
Monday, October 02, 2017
The first mists of October have yet dissipate, and there have been reports of two disappearances in Boreham Park, which seems moreso afflicted by a thick layer of damp fog than anywhere else in Horsingdon - indeed, there have been rumours of strange, bulky shapes spied moving ponderously through its vaporous depths.
There are also those from within the ranks of the guardians of the Black Bowers who have hinted that the uncanny mist is the harbinger of the return of someone - or something - to the ruins of Boreham Manor.
Sunday, October 01, 2017
On the first of the month, the sodium haze of Boreham Station's platform lights greets unwary visitors to the region, illuminating a shifting and uncertain route through heavy fog toward the October country.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Ever since, there have been reports of the inexplicable disappearance of wayward travellers last seen traversing the tunnel on the eve of certain festivals - as well as disturbing accounts of strange, headless and handless phantasms haunting the black, nitrous depths of its sinister underpass
Friday, September 29, 2017
The entire area is surrounded by barbed metal railings, with 'Keep Out' signs in loud red lettering posted at regular intervals. Rather unnervingly, the railings circumvent the area completely, with no gate visible anywhere along its bounds. Unless there is some other, hidden mode of ingress, it seems that whoever constructed the railings did so with the intention of sealing off the site forever. Perhaps this is for the best, for the area is permeated with an aura of utter, unremitting desolation, which appears to have as its locus the strange white dome which rests upon a nameless hill.
Thursday, September 28, 2017
Small transmitter arrays have begun to appear in unlikely, out-of-the-way places throughout Horsingdon. Whether this is a less than subtle attempt by some unknown agency to colonise the region's airwaves remains to be seen. What is evident, however, is the sudden spate of reports concerning manifestations of strange apparitions and phantasmal lights in and around the areas where these curious little arrays have been discovered.
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
This crumbling canalside property has been the locus of one of Horsingdon’s enduring cryptozoological mysteries, involving a great slimy eel- or worm-like creature said to have slithered out of the canal to make it’s lair in the clammy bowels of the decrepit building.
Whilst there have been numerous reports of sightings of the beast over the last century, no material evidence of its habitation of the ruin has yet been uncovered. This has led some researchers interested in the case to surmise that the creature may have a praeternatural rather that physical origin – an explanation which has gained some traction in recent years, subsequent to the revelation that the building once formed part of a factory owned by James Boreham - one in whose basement he is known to have performed occult rituals: the very site in which the monstrous worm is purported to have made its home.
In any case, there has been sonething of a resurgence of the location's former, fearful reputation due to recent sightings of the worm - sightings which have occured in conjunction with both a number of local people having unaccountably gone missing, and with the appearance of sinister sigils inscribed in red chalk on the cellar walls of the building.
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
A photograph of the first sunset of Autumn also captures something unexpected in the skies above Horsingdon: two black stars, hanging aimlessly is space - negative pulsars shorn from some unknown sphere of being and drawn into ours for the briefest of moments, enlightening us with bursts of an irradiating darkness to the fact that we inhabit a universe that is forever haunted by strange and inconceivable forces.
Monday, September 25, 2017
The guardians of the Black Bowers retain a continual (though secret) watch on the place - for they believe that such fanciful tales conceal a more terrifying truth: that the Mound conceals a portal to a dead world wherein slumbers one of Those Who Wait; that when the stars reach their proper alignment, the gateway to this world will be thrown open; that this monstrous sleeper will awaken, thence to rise and stride forth to consume the world.
Sunday, September 24, 2017
This canalside Georgian townhouse - converted into a pub in the 1950s - once belonged to James Boreham. The small attic room visible in the photograph above is purportedly haunted by some kind of shapeless apparition which has supposedly sent one witness to its manifestation hopelessly insane, whilst causing another unfortunate to jump to their death on being confronted by the thing. There are rumours of something dredged from the canal by Boreham in the late 1890s, and locked in the attic - presumably the psychic residue of which continues to haunt the room to this day.
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.
Saturday, September 16, 2017
Ominously dark clouds gather in the skies above this transmitter array located atop a Ministry building situated near an industrial park on the boundary of Horsingdon and Trentford. Unusual meteorological phenomena seem to clyster about these sights where the silent distort of alien signals rip the atmosphere and rend the fabric of reality. At night, strange lights can be seen flickering behind the black and pendulous clouds, and the smell of ozone falls to damp earth and wet concrete as something new and terrible bores a tunnel through unseen dimensions in an attempt to birth itself into our world.
Friday, September 15, 2017
For tne most part, the people of Horsingdon dwell in the relative safety and calm of the daylight hours - regardless of how transient those things may truly be: for they know all too well of the terrors that stalk the region's nighted landscape.
Then there are the Nightfolk: those who make the darkness their habitation, and in doing so renounce the last tattered remnants of their humanity.
Yet for all that, the darkness is undying - such that all who make their home in Horsingdon are in some degree kin to those forlorn and inscrutable Nightfolk.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Strolling along one of the more gentle inclines to the top of Burn Hill, one easily discover this cracked and crooked stone stairway- considered by many to be immeasurably ancient. Over the years it has acquired a curious local nomenclature: the Secret Stairway. Many legends cluster about the place, although a typically recurrent one concerns local inhabitants witnessing a line of figures - all robed and hooded - climbing the stairway toward the hilltop at twilight; according to this particular tale, the locals, intrigued by this remarkable scene and suspecting witchcraft, follow the curiously-clad interlopers from a short distance behind. On arriving at the crown of Burn Hill, they are surprised to discover it vacant and desolate, with no sign of the strange figures whose footsteps they had so recently shadowed.
Such tales have encouraged the belief that, whilst the stairway does indeed facilitate a transition between places high and low, its true destinations are neither the base nor the crown of Burn Hill; rather, it is the case that the stairway marks a point of interpenetration, such that the zones it ultimately ascends and descends to are not to be located on any map scribed by human hand.
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
The remnants of an ancient circle of stones in Horsingdon Woods. Known locally as 'witchstones', whatever the original purpose of these squat paeleolithic structures, they continued to be used by the Horsingdon Coven at least until the insidiously destructive witch-hunts which swept through the region until the latter part of the 17th Century;indeed, there are those who claim that the inheritors of the Coven continue to make use of these ritual sites into the present day.
The circles, it is believed, are arranged about nodal ponts of suppurating praeternatural power within the landscape, which the guardians of the Black Bowers (who also allegedly make use of these sites) claim can be mobilised as portals to those ineffable abysses which form the habitation of Those Who Wait - as well as to other unnameable and nightmarish zones.
Needless to say, the recent history of the witchstones is clustered about with many uncanny circumstances, inexplicable disappearances, monstrous apparitions, and unexplained deaths; as such they are best avoided by casual sightseers to the region.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
An amorphous glowing globule hovers above discarded machinery left in an abandoned access tunnel below Eastcote Station - not far from the Haunted Archway. Encounters with such phenomena - often refered to as 'ghostlights' after fragments of regional folklore in which similar lights appear as the souls of the unquiet dead - are not uncommon amongst the urban explorers and psychogeographers who seek to map those unseen territories which lurk just beneath the surface of Horsingdon's exoteric topography. And sometimes such explorers disappear in mysterious and disconcerting circumstances - often in or about locales where these luminescent entities are said to cluster.
Monday, September 11, 2017
Unsurprisingly, widespread suspicions concerning Jemimah Mason's probable involvement in witchcraft drew the eye of Deliverance Fowler - one of Horsingdon's itinerant witch hunters. However, before Fowler was able to bring Mason to trial to bring her to trial, she was seen - cloaked and hooded - crossing the bridge over Horsingdon Brook, with Black Owen scuttling at her heels. Apparently Mason was muttering something under her breath and tracing curious signs in the air before suddenly disappearing - with her familiar in tow- as she reached the mid-point of the bridge.
Since that time, there have been regular reports of a spectral, hooded figure - often accompanied by a much smaller, glowing orb (not unlike the one which appears towards the middle, left-hand edge of the photograph above). Whilst some have claimed that these are the ghosts of Jemimah Mason and Black Owen returning to haunt the present for their unfair persecution in the past, there are no records of her (or her familiar, for that matter) being brought to trial for practising witchcraft. Indeed, as per the above account, it appears to be the case that both Jemimah Mason and her accompanying rodent disappeared suddenly, and under highly mysterious circumstances.
If one compares accounts of the spectral phenomena which have appeared on the bridge over the decades, it seems that in recent years there has been a notably tendency amongst witnesses to describe their experiences in much greater detail - almost as if whatever does lurk about the bridge is on the cusp of returning itself to a more concrete - perhaps material - form. This has led to some of the region's more knowledeable students of occult matters to speculate that perhaps Mason and Black Owen's disappearance was due to their transitioning to another realm of being entirely - perhaps uncoupling themselves from time and space via the application of the same 'strange witcheries' mentioned in yesterday's post. And if Jemimah Fowler and Black Owen are on the cusp of returning to our world, one cannot help but wonder as to what kind of monstrous transformations might have afflicted them during their sojourn within the vast and unnammeable Outside...
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Taken from J.L. Bellingham's newsletter The Horsingdon Paranormal News - which was circulated amongst Forteans and would-be paranormal investigators in the late 1960s - this curious image purports to depict some of the members of the Horsingdon Coven as it existed at the time. The short article - submitted anonymously to the newsletter - accompanying the photograph notes that the Coven participated in 'a strange kind of witchery, wholly unlike anything which the current author has encountered during three decades of research into the history of witchcraft and satanism within the British Isles'. Speculation abounds as to the identity of the anonymous author of this piece, which some believe to have been Roland Franklyn (who, it has been subsequently claimed, is one of the robed and hooded figures depicted in this now-infamous photograph).
Saturday, September 09, 2017
Scattered throughout the region - invariably in the more isolated, out-of-the-way places - sit windowless, concrete bunker-like structures. Most of these heavily fortified sites were constructed at the behest of the Ministry of Defence during the 1970s, and are referred too in what little documentation is publicly available concerning them as lead-lined 'containment facilities'. Whilst there is some speculation that these are silos meant for storing nuclear waste, other rumours suggest the sinister-looking installations serve to contain even worse threats: threats which exist outside the spectrum of human conception to which we have become habituated; threats whose very existence jeopardises the fundamental structure of reality; threats from worlds wholly-other than our own.
Friday, September 08, 2017
This is a partial image of a photograph which was recently discovered amongst some classified files which had accidentally found their way into the public archives of Horsingdon Borough Council. The files and the photograph were quickly removed from the publicly-accesible section of the repository almost as soon as the mistake was discovered - but not before this photograph was taken. Apparently the files themselves included information pertaining to curious sonic experiments conducted on Horsingdon Hill by members of Northwich Polytechnic's Department of Radiophonics in the early 1960s - experiments conducted on behalf of the Ministry of Defence.
The individual who stumbled over the files only had a short time to examine them prior to the archivist demanding their return, but noted accounts of two researchers - including one member of the team who is partially pictured above - disappearing mysteriously in the vicinity of Horsingdon Hill whilst conducting the experiments. Some say that these two unfortunates were taken by whatever power lurks within the Hill as payment for being woken by said interlopers from whatever inconceivable dreams haunted its endless slumber...
Thursday, September 07, 2017
A remnant of the Cold War on a small hillock close to Burn Hill - supposedly the entry point to a more extensive underground Ministry of Defense complex. All such entry points have been sealed with lead-lined casings and concreted over in the aftermath of an event which occured in the late 1970s, of which no public records remain. Whilst the land is now accessible to the public, this is an area rarely frequented by the locals on account of what has been heard at night emanating from these sealed portals - and on account of the long history of witchlore associated with the locale. Whether these two seemingly disparate matters are related is unclear - but it is curious that many of the government installations which dot the region appear to align so precisely with the arcane topography and folkloric psychogeomorphology of the lsndscape hearabouts.
Wednesday, September 06, 2017
This overgrown church at the edge of Horsingdon Wood is believed to be one of the oldest buildings in the region: parts of its structure date back to the 13th Century, whilst the walls contain tiles and brickwork from even older Romano-British buildings. Despite the fact that it has been deconsecrated and has been stripped of its previous name - St. Edmunds - the church is still in use by a curious sect said to be an heterodox offshoot of the Romanian Orthodox Church: certainly faint chanting has been heard coming from the building at various times, and curious lights have been reported in the vicinity of this now nameless place of worship.
Tuesday, September 05, 2017
Beneath Eastcote Station stands this seemingly innocuous archway - providing access between the tracks and platforms for maintenance staff. However, strange rumours cluster about the archway, including reports of a shadowy figure seen standing within its recess, only to suddenly disappear seconds later, and of workers experiencing an almost praeternatural chill on passing through the aperture - as well as a sudden feeling of disorientation and vertigo, as if one is standing upon the brink of some vast and nameless abyss.
There seems to be no reason for the archway's haunted character - although some claim that it is a gateway which has somewhow bored through to the 'Secret Alleys' which are the haunt of the Shanklin Man, and which are also said to constitute some kind of invisible realm or zone which runs parallel to or interpenetrate's the arcane topographies of the region. But as to exactly what it is or where it leads to - that is one mystery which the people of Horsingdon are in no hurry to solve.
Monday, September 04, 2017
Yet another monolithc Ministry installation, not far from Trentford and the Ebury Way - this time sporting one of the famed 'golfball' radar arrays found at sites like RAF Menwith and RAF Fylingdales - both products of the apocalyptic paranoia of the Cold War, and both suffused with rumour of inhuman and praeternatural presences haunting their respective locales.
The above building was apparently tasked with tracking unidentifiable aerial phenomena - ostensibly as a safeguard against a surprise Soviet attack; other accounts tell a different story: one which involves the marshalling of forbidden, occult mathematics and alien ritual technologies to penetrate the membrane between worlds, at a point where it was demed to be especially worn and thin, with a view to weaponising those unspeakable forces and incomprehensible physics which lurk beneath the visible surface of things. That so many of the Ministry buildings in the region - superficially empty and untenanted - remain haunted by the silent, abject ghosts of technichians, scientists and administrators now condemned forever to wander the numinously hollow shells of these installations in a perpetual state of awestruck horror, speaks to both the horrifying success and awful failure of such a monstrous project.
Sunday, September 03, 2017
Four strange lights manifest above the treetops of Horsingdon Hill - and by the morning another of the resident from the local to the area will have bern reported missing: perhaps a dog-walker who stayed out just a little too late, or an errant rambler who took the wrong path through the woods to satify their curiosity regarding strange chanting heard from a nearby clearing. There is good reason why even the police avoid entering the locale at night - especially on the eve of certain festivals - unless utmost necessity complels them.
And those who have survived an encounter with whatever forces lurk within and about the Hill invariably refuse to speak of what they have witnessed - perhaps because human language is too poor a tool of signification to articulate that which transcends the linear reasoning of moderately sapient hominins.
Thus, when confronted by the devestating insignificance which an encounter with these praeternaturally luminescent phenomena and all that they infer, the people of Horsingdon typically do the only thing they can: turn their faces away from the deadly light of revelation, and pretend that all is right with the world.
Saturday, September 02, 2017
Anthropologists Maurice Bloch and Jonathan Parry argue that most human cultures symbolically reconfigure death as a regenerative process, through mortuary practices and funerary rites which present the endings of life as a transition into a new kind of existence - thus ensuring the renewal and continuity of society (and the social order as a whole) in face of human mortality. Criminals were often buried at crossroads, inferring both a temporal and spiritual banishment from the social world into the cosmic wilderness of the Outside: a realm which is without law or reason.
One cannot help wonder, then, what signals might be transmitted or received at such a space of transgression and transition - and to what sinister purpose?
Friday, September 01, 2017
There have been no burials in the ancient Eastcote Cemetery (located a short distance from Horsingdon Hill) in over a century, largely on account of of the inexplicable disinternments of then recently-buried corpses reported there at the turn of the 20th century - and the partially-gnawed condition in which the corpses were discovered in the aftermath of these monstrous exhumations, sprawled ignobly a short distance from their disturbed graves.
Even today, there are rumours of loping figures seen running between the gravestones at the dead of night; there are even older rumours of tunnels burrowed deep below the cemetary, supposedly leading to some of the properties of the Boreham family, as well as to certain ritual sites once used by the Horsingdon Coven.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
That the landscape - both ancient and modern - inhers with praeternatural power appears to be an uncontested truism in Horsingdon, such that it would be surprising if the mysterious Ministry did not employ such power as a result of its investigations into the arcane secrets and occult enigmas of the region; as a case in point, the hard modernist angles of this abandond and now hollow structure speak to an abject and inhuman totalitarianism which seems to have been the Ministry's ultimate goal: marshalling the spectral horrors and alien science unearthed during its delvings throughout the region to produce a new political order - one defined entirely in terms of a cold, uncaring universe of absolute, featureless uniformity, and governed by the absolute mechanism of an vast, indifferent and unwavering bureaucracy whose only purpose is the effacement of difference. One can only begin to imagine the kinds of monstrous transfigurations and deformations of the human essence such a system, instantiated within the very architecture of the place, might have once been inflicted upon the building's occupants - and one can only speculate as to how this might pertain to the disappearance of those lost souls since claimed by the edifice.
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Whatever the actual nature of such luminous aerial phenomena, there can be little doubt that they cluster around those locales within the region traditionally associated with the dire rites of primordial witchcraft - locales at which such rites are said to have scoured the walls of the world membraneously thin, allowing egress into our realm of things which should not be: things whose amorphous protuberances glow treacherously with a captivating radiance; things like great angler fish swimming through the vast abysses of space, enticing their unwitting victims with a wondrous luminosity toward the fanged maw of some unknowably horrible fate; things which whip the darkness with an immortal hunger which can never be satiated.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
This neolithic stone seat - known as the Toad King's Throne - rests on the bank of a wide pond or mere not far from Burn Hill. According to the folklore of the region, the eponymous Toad King was apparently one 'Old Tom', the bactrachian familiar of Mother Jenner who led the Horsingdon Coven during the late 1700s. As the story goes, Old Tom grew so grotequely fat on the blood of its mistress that it was forced to take refuge in the pond from the prying eyes of her inquisitive neighbours, and its so-called throne was constructed by Mother Jenner herself so that, once it had been called forth from the murky depths, she could sit with the enormous toad on her lap and nurse it with her own lifeblood.
However, as already intimated more recent archaeological investigations have revealed the seat to be older by far than the tale allows; in addition to which, there are darker rumours of something equally ancient which would draw its slimey bulk out of the pond and seat itself on the throne in order to receive bloody sacrifice from its worshippers - perhaps this was the very same entity which Mother Jenner called to her as familiar and treated as if it were her very own child.
Monday, August 28, 2017
1970s Brutalism oversees the Horsingdon landscape in the form of this building, erected on land acquired via compulsory purchase order by the Ministry of Defence and closed to the public (the area within which the structure stands is enclosed by chain-link fencing topped with barbed-wire). Rumour has it that secret tunnels link it to Horsingdon Bunker. No one has ever been seen going into or out of the installation, and it is unclear as to what it's purpose is.
The land around it, however, is stricken by an unnatural silence and appears to be bereft of any animal life whatsoever - except for those figures whic are occasionally encountered looking out from the internal perimeter of the installation: dressed entirely in black military overalls, wearing helmets with reflective visors, always standing stock still, and staring silently and facelessly in a manner that seems to terrify even the most persistant and inquisitive tourists to this strange and unsettling location.