Friday, June 23, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.174: Uncanny Valley

This ancient sunken bridleway runs through Horsingdon Woods - although few riders these days find themselves able to spur their mounts forward into the curious, submerged track: most horses whinny fearfully and remain stricken and sweating in place at the sight of the time-worn trail.

No one is quite sure why this should be; it is, however, said that on certain nights the thunderous gallop of something akin to a monstrous charger might be heard coursing down the steep hollow of the bridleway - even though no such beast is visible to mortal eyes.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.173: Ancient Springs, Unsated Hungers

The stream which emerges from this old brickwork duct - feeding the Grand Union Canal as it flows past Horsingdon Hill - has acquired something of a macabre reputation locally: there have been a number of accounts of late-night passersby having witnessed something skin to a thin, scaly arm bearing a three-fingered, webbed claw emerging from the conduit, groping around blindly as if in search of something.

The building of this this section of the canal in the early part of the 19th Century necessitated the disturbance of a nearby neolithic site - at the centre of which lay a small sacred spring from which the feeder stream originates. Local legends holds that, in ancient times, sacrifice was regularly made at the spring to propitiate that which dwelt within - lest it seek more regular sustanence from amongst the nearby population.

The cessation of such rites is, perhaps, to be expected in the face of the inevitable advance of modernity; nonetheless, there are things within the darkness for whom the reasoned light of that modernity holds no meaning; things which, once disturbed and denied their due, will never again rest until their unspeakable appetites are sated.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.172: A Horsingdon Solstice

The images above are a rare instance of the guardians of the Black Bowers allowing themselves to be captured on film - on this occasion performing the traditional, costumed midsummer pantomime at the foot of Horsingdon Hill.

The white 'Obby 'Oss supposedly represents the monstrous, supernatural horse summoned forth from some nameless realm by the Saxon warlord Horsa. Supposedly buried somewhere beneath the crest of the Hill, it is said that the remains of Horsa are guarded still by the spectre of his praeternatural mount. The second figure is that of Old Hob Underhill (or sometimes more specifically 'Old Hob from Under the Hill'), which the guardians of the Black Bowers consider to be a folkoric representations of one of Those Who Wait - an entity whose monstrous form (oddly mirroring Horsa's fate) has slumbered for aeons in some black abyss beneath Horsingdon - but who is here quaintly disguised in this charmingly bizarre (yet still disturbing) costume.

Local interpretations of the pantomine have the 'Obby 'Oss as the protector of the region, chasing off Old Hob from its attempted depredations of the land and its people; the performers themselves offer an alternitive reading: the 'Obby 'Oss is the harbinger of Those Who Wait; that rather than seeking to drive Old Hob away, it is acting as midwife, forcing Old Hob Underhill's passage from the womb of its previous state of being into a glorious rebirth and renewal within the substance of this world. And such births, as the guardians of the Black Bowers are found of reminding anyone willing to listen, are inevitably accompanied by the most terrible of hungers.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.171: Fearful Frequencies

A transmitter array by the side of the train line which runs berween Northwich Park Station and Trentford Station. The exact purpose of this lone transmitter remain unclear - as do the reasons for its construction at this particular location (an area of the region replete with witchlore of the most disconcerting kind); regardless, since 1985, the same signal has been transmitting from the site: a perfect sine wave of continuous and uninterrupted repetition, its numb, mindless drone oscillating endlessly through the airwaves.

Those who have heard the transmission typically warn others not to seek it out. They report that it seems to resonate along a scale of harmonics entirely alien to the human experience, registering its vacuous and indecipherable signal in a frequency as fearful as it is unfathomable. These percipients also claim to have been so deeply unnerved by the experience of what they heard that, for days afterwards, they suffered regular blackouts and periods of memory loss. Fortunately, this part of the Horsingdon region remains sparsely populated, suggesting that the array functions as some kind of warning beacon, ensuring that the surrounding landscape - and whatever monstous powers inhere therein - remains forever free from human habitation and interference..

Monday, June 19, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.170: A Field of Secrets

This archive photo of a Ministry listening post from the late 1950s - located in a field containing a neolithic barrow not far from Horsingdon Hill - depicts what appears to be a circular or spherical aerial object of unknown origin on the extreme middle-right of the photo. Indeed, newsletters produced by HUFOS (the long-defunct Horsingdon UFO Society) at the time noted regular sightings of unidentifable aerial phenomena in and around the installation, as well as making mention of the supposed disappearance of at least one of the station's personnel around the time of these sightings.

The intallation is now long gone - but the field in which it stood is not entirely bereft of the secrets it once kept: rumour has it that on certain moonless nights ghostly figures, wearing relatively modern military dress, might be observed flickering in and out of reality - all the time wreathed in phosphorescent spectral fire and screaming silently at the unimaginable experiences they endure whilst forever trapped between worlds.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.169: Gateway to Entropy

More signs and portents manifest as a merciless, sweltering closeness drips sluggishly from the firmament, dissipating into the strange occult economy of the Horsingdon landscape. A triangular maw in the sky - a gateway to entropy - announcing the eventual heat-death of the universe to the uncomprehending populace of the region...

Saturday, June 17, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.168: Farrow Wood

Travelling in a southerly direction past Horsingdon Hill, one encounters what was once a relatively small parcel of common land - covering only a few acres - known as Farrow Wood. In the 1970s a compulsory purchase order effectively placed the Wood under the jurisdiction of an arm of the British Armed Services (which Horsingdon conspiracy theorists, with typically paranoid aplomb, believe is probably mysterious and inscrutable 'Ministry').

Notably, the issuance of the purchase order coincided with rather hysterical claims being made in local newspapers - replicating a wider moral panic being perpetrated in the national tabloids - regarding a rising tide of witchcraft and satanism which was apparently sweeping the nation, with Farrow Wood being one of the focal points in the Horsingdon region where withcraft rituals and other 'satanic' activities were supposedly flourishing.

Whether the two instances are related remains open to speculation - but ever since that time Farrow Wood has been fenced off and closed to public access; in addition to which, nightly the tall floodlights shown in the above photo illuminate a clearing in the middle of the Wood where, according to the news reports of the 1970s, nameless occult rites regularly took place.

Friday, June 16, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.167: Horsingdon Bunker

Following a narrow path through Horsingdon Woods to the base of Horsingdon Hill, one eventually encounters a squat concrete archway, overgrown with foliage, and housing a heavy steel door - to which a legal notice is posted, warning the reader against any attempt at gaining entry by order of Horsingdon Borough Council.

In recent years, a rich vein of folkore and legendry has been mined from this curious structure, especially regarding what lies within. A recurrent motive involves curious wayfarers who, on investigating the doorway, are surprised to encounter a shockingly discordant and cacophanous noise - as of great claws being raked across bare metal - emanating from the side of the portal opposite to the listeners: the sound of something monstrous soliciting egress from its underground prison, and seeking entrance into our world.

Thursday, June 15, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.166: Demonic Firmament

After a tumultuous thunderstorm at precisely 3am - the Witching Hour - this morning, the skies over Horsingdon have finally cleared; yet in its wake the grey shroud of cloud cover has left another mystery: photographed earlier this evening, the residuum of what appears to be an inverted pentagram sketched in smoke above the Horsingdon skyline.

A random arrangement of clouds, deceptively fashioned into an act of signification by the cognitive misfiring of our pattern-recognition systems and pareidolia? Contrails produced by Ministry aircraft as part of some great, conspiritorial ritual? Or perhaps something even worse: the portent of other horrors which will wrack the skies and landscape of Horsingdon - horrors conjectured by the unformed and immaterial geometries of a terrible symbology; horrors unimaginable, but yet to come.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.165: Haunted Skies

The swathe of ghostly grey cloud which continues to linger across the skies of Hauntingdon was briefly disturbed today by the appearance of what percipients claimed was an object of praeternatural provenance, sighted above the crown of Horsingdon Hill. The object was too distant to be identified, but at times it appeared to swell and contract, taking on a transluescent, spectral hue before vanishing in a sudden flash of light.

If Horsingdon's skies were not already haunted enough by their own history of inexplicable aerial phenomena, as the electrostatic build-up and ionization caused by current meteorological conditions grates against the membrane that separates worlds at its thinnest point, chances are those skies will become yet more haunted in the days ahead.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.164: Northwich Masonic Temple

Northwich Masonic Temple, over which James Boreham presided for the better part of the 1920s. The Temple began to acquire something of a sinister reputation during this period on account of the heterodox rites which Boreham supposedly performed in the building's extensive cellars - largely unbeknownst to the longer-standing and more respectable of the establishment's patrons. This eventually led to a sharp fall in membership, as well as threats of violence from the surrounding community in the wake of a series of mysterious disappearances (the responsibility for which was, unsurprsingly, laid at Boreham's door).

Today the Temple is no longer operational, and in an advanced state of disrepair. Despite its abandonment, over the decades there have been occasional reports of missing persons last seen in the vicinity of the building.

During his tour of the Horsingdon region in 1968, Roland Franklyn visited what was by then an uninhabited husk. During his lone, nighttime exploration of the Temple's cellars, Franklyn found evidence of recent ritual activities, as well as a preponderence of curious white spiders which had apparently infested the building. In one unpublished letter documenting his experiences in the Temple, he also admits to withdrawing rather unceremoniously from his search of the lower reaches of the structure after hearing a low throbbing noise emanating from further below - along with the disconcerting sound of something unfeasibly large and inhuman dragging itself in his direction from an adjoining corridor.

Monday, June 12, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.163: Uncanny Signals, Alien Intelligences.

A vast new transmitter array, in the process of being built, claws its way skyward - shown here from Southcote Station facing towards Northwich Park Station; some distance away to its right, a smaller companion is just visible above the skyline.

A stream of uncanny signals, jagged static and unearthly white noise - contrivances of occulted telecomunications, which fuse cutting-edge digitech and quantum computing with the barely-understood hyperdimensional mechanics revealed by xeno-cryptolinguistic analysis of forbidden tomes of pre-human provenance - spews forth from these esoteric apparatus into the stratosphere and thence to the black gulfs beyond: messages - as unintelligible to the human mind as they are unutterable - cast into the outer voids for the scrutiny of the fathomless alien intelligences which lurk therein. And what fearful response, I wonder, might we one day expect in return?

Sunday, June 11, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.162: Shadows Over Horsingdon (Redux)

As a pendulous layer of thick grey cloud - flecked with brief flashes of electrical discharge - continues to blanket the skies of the region, a transmitter array casts its own shadow over the streets and houses of Horsingdon. Today the airwaves are crawling with strange and unidentifiable signals, whilst local radio transmissions are subject to peculiar distortions on account of the anomalous atmospheric conditions - signs and portents of something terrible about to step over the horizon.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.161: Graveyard Statuary

St. Osmund's Church has now been completely boarded up - although disoncertingly a Black Bower has been erected within the bounds of its cemetary, where, it seems, an increasing number of graves have been disturbed on account of subsidence (at least that is the story spun by the Tory councillors responsible for of the supposed 'renovation' of the building and its grounds).

It is difficult to ignore an apparent synchrony between developments here and intimations of the recent re-occupation by persons unknown of the long-cursed Boreham House (which overlooks the churchyard from across the road) - and how this might relate to long-standing rumours of tunnels and crypts below the Church, supposedly pre-dating the Roman invasion of Britain, and which allegedly connect to various sub-basements beneath the Boreham abode.

In any case, graveyard statuary, now unwanted and displaced from their silent watch over the inhabitants of the burying ground, grieve still for the people of Horsingdon - perhaps in anticipation of some doom that slouches inexorably towards the borough.

Friday, June 09, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.160: A Light at the End of the World

Boreham House under the grey pall of clouds which has covered the region for the entire day in the aftermath of political turmoil. For the most part, a period of meteorlogical calm, but cut through with flashes of actinic tension and uncertainty: an intimation of the discharge of lightning which threatens to tear asunder the atmospheric physics of the Horsingdon skyline; lightning in whose blurred, negative afterimage one is granted a brief and terriying glimpse of a world as we hope it never could be - but which we secretly fear is the way it truly is.

And in the darkness that grows in anticipation of this electrically-charged stormhead, a light appears - suddenly and unexpectedly - in the abandoned upper storey of Boreham House. Given the history of the place, such an event is replete with horrific expectation: at the very least, of a misshapen silhouette spied briefly before the lighted window, signalling the feared but long-expected return of something monstrous.

Thursday, June 08, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.159: Sticks (Redux)

It is not uncommon, during a casual stroll through Horsingdon Woods, to discover the remnants - or the beginnings - of some ritual edifice: sympathetic magic bound in stick, briar and stone, and intended to reshape the unseen topographies and the intangible, procrustean geometries which form both the metaphysical bedrock of the region, and the barrier separating this world from those chaotic, prenumbral realms which lurk beyond.

It is fortunate that ramblers typically encounter such artefacts after dawn and before twilight, for that is when they are at their safest; even then it is best not to interfere with them; better still to avoid such sites altogether - especially after dark, for then one risks confronting the authors of these structures or - worse still - whatever unnameable presences those architects of the unreal seek to draw forth from the formless dark.

Wednesday, June 07, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.158: Towards the Light.

This stretch of the Ebury Way as it passes through Horsingdon is notorious for a luminescent phenomenon which has waylaid many travellers - and possibly claimed the lives and sanity of more than a few.

What one typically encounters is this: as the pathway along this stretch seems to break through the tunnel of trees, a brilliant luminescence like a dazzling burst of sunlight appears to fill the aperture. Locals often warn wayfarers not to go towards the light should this occur -  and on no account should they step over that blindingly luminous threshold: for its rays are of a deadly, sickening and irradiating light, beyond which can be heard a mindlessly throbbing hum, overlaid by a mad, incessent and atonal piping which traces its ineffable rhythm from neither this nor any other sane world or universe.

Tuesday, June 06, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.157: Orbs

Above is a photo of the strange, orb-like manifestation - fuzzy and indeterminate, seemingly phasing intermittently in-and-out of the human perceptual spectrum - which appeared briefly over Horsingdon Woods after a particularly furious thunderstorm yesterday evening. A smaller, glowing orb can be seen in the lower left-hand corner of the image.

The violent reverberations of Horsingdon's meteorology have a habit of drawing forth inexplicable forces from those black, unfathomable abysses which claw mindlessly at the rim of our universe - lightless chasms harbouring things which hunger blindly for the life which lies within our world.

Inevitably, some horrendous local tragedy will have followed in the wake of this phenomenon.

Monday, June 05, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.156: The Crooked Tree

On the lower slopes of Horsingdon Hill stands this lone remnant of a tree. In 1751, Abbie Carpender was hanged from it for the crime of witchcraft, and - as local legend has it - her body was buried in unhallowed ground at the foot of the tree. Not long after, the tree began to wither and die - on account, as some would have it, of feasting on the corrupt substance of Abbie Carpender's rotting and wretched corpse.

Yet despite such depredations the Crooked Tree continues, to this day, to look askance towards the the vast desolation of the Horsingdon firmament, as both defiant testimony and memorial to the marginalised and the disenfranchised of the district: those whose lives were hidden, or obscured, or forcibly snuffed out - and about which the dismal emptiness of space will forever preserve its impassive and indifferent silence.

Sunday, June 04, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.155: Ghost Tower Signals

This transmitter sits within a perimiter of iron fencing not far from where the Ebury Way passes the foot of Horsingdon Hill. Erected by the Ministry at some point in the early 1970s, over the years the structure has acquired the nickname of 'The Ghost Tower' on account of the pale, spectral figures sometimes spied at twilight dancing widdershins around the it

Reports of these ghostly phenonenon seem to coincide not only with disruptive bursts of static and white noise which sometimes interrupt local radio and television signals (much to the annoyance of local residents), but also with statistically-significant spikes in both the suicide rate and admissions to psychiatric institutions amongst the nearby population.

Saturday, June 03, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.154: Three Sisters

On the lower slopes of Horsingdon Hill sit the Three Sisters: a triumvirate of three small neolithic barrows, access to which has been restricted by order of Horsingdon Borough Council. Indeed, it seems that the local populace have always avoided the site on account of the area subsisting under a curse: a common belief being that the mounds mark the graves of three sisters who also happened to be witches. In any case, the fearful reputation surrounding the barrows has meant such that they have lain undisturbed for at least two hundred years; no official investigation of their contents was undertaken until the 1960s, when a team of archaeologists from the then-Northwich Park Polytechnic obtained permission to excavate the mounds.

Three days after the dig began, two of the team had died under highly mysterious circumstances, the excavation was abandoned, and the barrows were sealed. Soon after Horsingdon Bourough Council passed a by-law forbidding acces to the site, subsequently erecting a perimiter of
wire fencing around the area.

During his time in Horsingdon, Roland Franklyn claims to have visited the barrows late one night with a view to discovering what exactly was interred within, subsequently fleeing the vicinity on witnessing pale, faceless things crawling over the mounds; even today rumours persist of hooded figures gathering at the barrows on certain auspicious nights, enacting strange rites about these squat, archaic tumuli, and intoning incantations to whatever lurks within in a language not of this world.

Friday, June 02, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.153: A Light in the Sky

A pulsing white light manifested in the skies above the furthest edges of Trentford's suburbs - not far from Croxley Moor or the nearby government facility - early last night. Needless to say, a mysterious and unexpected disappearance - of someone last seen walking across the moor during the early evening - was reported in the local newspaper this morning. 

In Horsingdon and its surrounding environs, instances such as these are now anticipated as a matter of course: especially in the aftermath of some seemingly-praeternatural event - in response to which locals will wholheartedly support the claims of local authorities that they intend to pursue every possible avenue of investigation in resolving these missing-person cases. 

But nobody really believes it. 

Those taken or consumed by the mysteries of Horsingdon rarely find themselves returned safely to hearth and kin: for it is a truth universally acknowledged by residents of the region that such unfortunates are lost forever - cast adrift eternally within those nameless zones and indeciphersble topographies which perpetually gnaw and grind against the ever-thinning edges of that which we mistake for the totality of the real.

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.152: A Path Through the Woods

The collapsed remnant of a Black Bower blocks a path through Horsingdon Woods which leads to the crest of Horsingdon Hill, passing various sites of significance in the history of the Horsingdon Coven as it winds its way to the hilltop. Locals rarely tread such paths, and warn those they consider to be 'outsiders' of making use of them - especially after dusk.

As it's curious folklore has filtered out into a wider world of cosmopolitan modernity, Horsingdon Hill and its surrounding woodland have become something of a weekend attraction for a particular kind of Londoner - one seeking an experience of some kind of 'authentic' (but entirely imagined) folksy ruralism (but without needing to travel outside the M25): usual middle-class professionals who work in the city, only ever eating locally-sourced organic food, and whose flirtation with New Age ideals is passed off as a profound committment to an 'alternative' spiritual path (and never, of course, as the base consumption of yet another form of commodified cultural capital that it really is).

Needless to say, the gleefully-upbeat perspectives of these casual mystical sightseers rarely survive an unwanted rendezvous with those guardians of the Black Bowers who are sometimes encountered in the vicinity of Horsingdon Hill: ragged wanderers whose fearful committment to Those Who Wait havs enlightened them to the actual, spiritually-desolate nature of reality - an enlightenment they forcefully dispense upon others, whether it has been solicited or not. Thus, in the nearby Witch Elm Public House, one will sometimes hear a whispered tale of hapless tourists who, ignoring the warnings proferred, have followed these forbidden paths through the woods to an unusual - and often grotesque (but justly-deserved) - doom.

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.151: The Eyes of Night

Subsequent to my recent explorations of the Ebury Way and its surrounding environs, I discovered the above image in my e-mail inbox, along with a short message delivered by the mysterious individual going by the name of 'Cold'. The accompanying missive claims that the image depicts a strange phenomenon which appeared in the night sky lights above Croxley Moor at precisely the same time that pulsing lights and a low humming drone were observed emanating from the nearby Ministry facility. The inscrutable 'Cold' further claims that, on this occasion, an ominous chanting could be also heard coming from within the grounds of the installation.

If looked at closely, the image looks like two pale, glowing eyes inset within the smoky mirage of a giant mantis-like face. This may be nothing more than a case of over-active pareidolia - or it may be evidence of a manifestation of some monstrous visitant, whose partial form has been evoked from some hidden gulf or nighted abyss by the inconceivable technological sorceries being experimented with at the windowless facility on the edge of Croxley Moor.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.150: Signals out of Time

Above is a long-distance shot of the curious apparatus - presumably some kind of transmitter array - rising from the roof of one of the squat windowless buildings which form part of the governement facility on the edge of Croxley Moor. As far as I can judge, the transmitter directly overlooks the small stone circle which is encompassed within the installation's grounds.

There have been accounts by late-night bypassers of a low, throbbing hum emanating from within the facility's compound, accompanied by weirdly-pulsing multicoloured lights; notably these curious displays often coincide with reports of encounters with the mysterious beast of Croxley Moor, as well as with sightings of the strange, neolithic spectres along the Ebury Way.

Speculation thus abounds as to the occult nature of the technologies being employed within the facility, and how they are being used to interact with the praeternatural topographies of Horsingdon: esoteric signals resonating not just across space but throughout time, to much earlier periods of human prehistory and sentience; perhaps even echoing into the profound temporal abysses of deep time, and thence into the awareness of whatever murky forms of prehuman consciousness inhabited the planet long before the dawn of humanity: things which, if the mysterious ancient capstone in the Croxley Moor marshes is anything to go by, may subsist still deep below the Horsingdon landscape - things once slumbering which the pulsing of enigmatic signals has now raised to a monstrous wakefulness.

Monday, May 29, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.149: Circles Full of Secrets

The first of the above photographs depicts one of the windowless buildings which form part of the secretive government installation - generally considered to be overseen and administered by the mysterious 'Ministry', whose recent history seems to be closely tied to that of the Horsingdon region - on the edge of Croxley Moor.

The second image shows the furthermost extremity of a small neolithic stone circle which falls within the boundaries of the facility (and the only part of the circle visible from the Ebury Way as it passes the state-owned property) - raising questions as to why the Ministry should see fit to assert jurisdiction over a parcel land of minor archaeological significance as a matter of national security...and wether this has any connection to reports over the last few decades regarding the so-called 'Beast of Croxley Moor'.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.148: The Thing from the Well

Between the Ebury Way and Croxley Moor sits a small section of sedgy marshland. One section of this has recently dried up due to the hot weather, revealing the large circular arefact shown above: a piece of masonry of ancient provenance, and which looks like the capstone to a well.

As far as I am aware, no formal archaeological investigation has been undertaken with a view to determining the age or provenance of the capstone - or, indeed, as to what what lies underneath it. The question remains, then, as to how such an object came in to being, and for what purpose...

However, in relation to the accounts of something monstrous stalking Croxley Moor at night, one cannot help but wonder whether something best left undisturbed has been roused from its slumber from the chthonic deeps below Horsingdon. This being the case, further questions come to mind: how was such an awakening affected? And, given the proximity of a mysterious and secretive government installation, was the calling forth of whatever haunts the Moor at night unintentional...or deliberate?

Saturday, May 27, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.147: The Beast of Croxley Moor

About two miles out of Trentford along the Ebury Way, one encounters Croxley Moor - a wide expanse of marshy moorland surrounded on the North, East and South by thickly-wooded hills. For years locals have maintained that some musshapen, hulking prsence haunts the moor at night, and which, over the years has been held responsible for numerous dogs mysteriously disappearing whilst being walked by careless and inattentive owners on the moor - as well as the occasional rambler. No clear description of this terrify entity have been recorded, although it is commonly reffered to as scaly and giving off a foetid, fish-like odour

Of note is the fact that these accounts of the 'Beast of Croxley Moor' begin circulating throughout the region post-1962 - around the time that a secretive government listening post (whose transmitter array can just about be seen in the ladt of the above series of photgraphs) - situated on the edge of the moor - became operational.

One might be forgiven for drawing parallels between this case and the strange events surrounding Horsingdon nature reserve - especially in light of the reserve's proximity to another secretive government listening post (which has recently begun transmitting signals after years of silence). The similiarity between the two may be entirely coincidental - and to that end I will let regular readers draw their own conclusions.

Friday, May 26, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.146: The Ancient Track

Connecting Horsingdon to Trentford, and thence travelling northwards toward St. Albans, is the Ebury Way: one of the old, straight tracks which used to form the socially-connective tissue binding together disparate communities throughout the region, and which is as ancient and mystery-haunted as it is long.

The British Isles are replete with ghosts; yet more often than not these phantoms represent a cognizable historicity, memorialising a past either remembered or about which the facts are recorded and well-known - and whose shadows demarcate moments of temporal disjuncture and conflict of consequence to those who occupy the present. There are no ghosts of Neanderthals.

Or at least very few - for the stretch of the Ebury Way pictured above is notable for the pre-neolithic spectres which have supposedly been encountered there: ghosts of things perhaps not fully-sapient, but on the very cusp of the cognitive revoution: lumpen-browed, slouching things, with protuberant faces and dressed in scraps of fur; things which howl silently at the ignobility of a universe in which their shades are allowed to inhabit an existence which they never will and never can comprehend.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.145: Signals to Unknown Realms

Overlooking the Grand Union Canal, not far from both Horsingdon Hill and its mysteriously enclosed nature reserve, is an abandoned building which was apparently once one of the Ministry's listening posts. Another of the many curious transmitter or antennae which overshadow the Horsingdon landscape rises from the roof of the tower visible to the left of the above photograph. Exactly who or what was monitored from this base of operations has never been revealed - although its proximity to Horsingdon Hill has long been cause for speculation.

Notably, the incidents prompting the enclosure by Horsingdon Council of the nearby nature reserve seem to have coincided with reports made by local amateur radio buffs - reports regarding the fact that the old Ministry building's antenna has unexpectedly begun retransmitting. Whether this is due to a glitch in whatever electronic systems remain within the structure, or an intentional act on the part of as yet undisclosed persons or agencies, has not yet been ascertained - nor does anyone have an explanation as to the nature, purpose or meaning of the cryptic signals now filtering through the airwaves, carrying their inscrutable communique into some hidden and unknown realm.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions 144: Endangered Species

A small nature reserve - bisected by a meandering nature trail - stands at the foot of Horsingdon Hill, facing on to the Grand Union Canal. A few years ago, iron railings were suddenly and unexpectedly erected around the reserve. Entry on to the nature trail is now forbidden by order of Horsingdon Council, and the entire area is monitored by cctv. These actions have been justified as necessary to the protection of rare and endangered flora and fauna which apparently flourish in this largely-overgrown wooded area.

Other rumours hold that such measures were a consequence of increasing reports of unexpected encounters with monstrous, hulking shapes in the woods - and of the further reports of casual ramblers mysteriously disappearing whilst walking the trail that inevitably followed. These rumours also maintain that the iron railings are intended to prevent something from within the protected zone making its way out - suggesting in turn that perhaps the engangered species most in need of safeguarding is the one which, for the moment, maintains its tenuous existence outside the bounds of the reserve.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.143: Broken Broomsticks

Occasionally in Horsingdon one encounters a broken broomstick, shorn of the bundle of sticks which once formed its bristles, seemingly cast careless to the ground. Invariably such items are found lying before a house or hovel recently abandoned - a house or hovel whose threshold is marked by a Black Bower. The prior inhabitants of such places are rarely, if ever, seen again. 

Local folklore has it that these broken broomsticks are used to signal to one of the guardians of the Black Bowers that he or she has been cast out of that ancient sodality of shadows. For this to happen to a member of a consortium of mystagogues whose occult practices and cryptic aims are recognised as not only diabolically malign, but as generally inimical to human life and morality in its entirety, one can only speculate upon the truely unspeakable nature of their transgressions, or the magnitude of their violations of their Order's sacred traditions. 

Needless to say, local folklore also holds that such expulsions are invariably accompanied by dreadful rites aligned against the transgressor, typically resulting in something terrible being called up from some nameless abyss, and sent in pursuit of the wrongdoer to call them to an accounting no doubt as horrible as it is indescribable.

Monday, May 22, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.142: The Lost Language of Headstones

Rumour has it that, hidden amongst the overgrown bounds of Horsingdon Cemetary, there are two graves, side by side, marked by curiously-angled obsidian headstones, and upon which are transcribed glyphs of an unknown and alien language.

According to these tales, neither grave is marked on the cemetary's register; nor is there any record of who - or what - might be buried there (or, indeed, of when the burials took place). Whilst many anecdotal accounts exist regarding both the location of the headstones and the nature of their strange, otherworldly appearance, there are no extant photographs of these perplexing monuments.

There is a further rumour that Horsingdon Council maintains a standing order that the graves should not, under any circumstances, be disturbed - as well as threatening to employ the sternest legal measures against anyone attempting to translate the unearthly characters inscribed on the headstones.

As with many of Horsingdon's mysteries, it is nigh impossible to determine the truth of such claims; what is, however, an established fact is that in one of the most overgrown parts of the burying ground stands a squat, blocky, concrete structure recently erected by Horsingdon Council to protect (according to the vague statement released by one of its employees) two graves of 'historic and archaeological significance'. Unsurprisingly, there are those who speculate that the structure in question has, in fact, been put in place as the means of forever the concealing the message of the mysterious headstones, and of containing whatever lurks beneath them.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.141: Black Cats

It is a fact rarely disputed by older residents that the black cats of Horsingdon play an important role in the guardianship of the region, patrolling the points at which its praeternatural topography forms a boundary with other realms of being; hardy hunters, they stalk the extramundane powers which so-often slip silently into our world, forcing them back from whence they came, through hiss, through tooth, and through claw - or killing and consuming them outright. The partially-eaten remnants of anomalous creatures sporadically discovered in the woods and fields of Horsingdon are the remainder of their sport. These cats are often encountered about gates and doorways, slinking mysteriously about their business. On occasion, they can be persuaded - usually by an act of kindness or a gift of especially creamy milk - to give up one of their lesser secrets.

Black cats have, understandably, long been associated with the witchlore of the region; they are certainly the favoured familiars of the guardians of the Black Bowers. These inky mousers are, however, known to serve their masters and mistresses with what can only be described as a haughty indifference, often pursuing their own inscrutable agendas: at times abandoning their owners should they meander too far along the path of folly, and even doing them harm if maltreated.

In the latter instance, one locally famous case of leonine retribution involves a singularly rotund and enigmatic beast known as Mehegerty the Blackhearted, whose owner (a witch with a particularly malign reputation) disrespectfully threatened to cast the poor feline out into the cold on an especially bitter Winter's night; Mehegerty's vengeful retort was to fix a baleful green stare upon his cruel mistress, who choked to death - slowly and painfully - on the spot.

So if, during your travels throughout Horsingdon, you should encounter a black cat - or indeed one of its kin of another stripe - greet it with affection and goodwill, as your journey may be a safer one for it.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.140: A Townhouse in Trentford

Prior to his disappearance and suspected death, James Boreham had sought to avoid further scrutiny from the Horsingdon authorities by relocating further afield, choosing the above townhouse in the neighbouring borough of Trentford - where rumour of his unsavoury activities and occult affiliations had yet to penetrate - as his new base of operations.

In the aftermath of Boreham's presumed demise, the building remained empty for many years. However, a recent spate of disturbing occurances - including a number of disappearances - in and around the grounds of the house has forced Trentford Council to take action. On the advisement of its Horsingdon counterpart, Trentford Council has taken the decision not to demolish the building - perhaps fearful of releasing whatever might lurk within -  and instead sealing all of its widows and doorways. The Council has also appointing a local security firm to monitor activity in around the house for the foreseeable future.

Whilst there are some who complain at a waste of tax payers' money on what seems to be a pointless enterprise, those older residents of Trentford and Horsingdon - having witnessed something of the strangeness having afflicted those regions in the shadow of Boreham's passing - consider it money well-spent.

Despite the traditionalism apparent amongst much of Trentford and Horsingdon's populace, these boroughs have historically been Labour strongholds. A current concern is, therefore, how the recent insidious policy of 'austerity' might impact upon Trentford and Horsingdon Councils' ability to maintain their protective measures around many of the Boreham properties - and the frightful secrets they may still conceal. There are even those who go so far as to claim that, in this matter, there is s genuine possibility of the small-mindedness and short-sightedness of the prevailing political and economic moment unleashing a monstrous apocalypse of the most terrible kind: and then there are those amongst the guardians of the Black Bowers who profess to welcome such an event, citing the self-destructive character of the current political climate as further evidence that humankind's time on this planet is close to reaching its end.

Friday, May 19, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.139: Witch Gates

Gateways not only designate points of transition between boundaries, they also operate as indices of spaces of category violation: sites at which a greater, more terrible outline of existence grinds against the world.

In Horsingdon, such violations almost inevitably involve intrusions of prateternatural Outsideness, disrupting what is for most people the quotidian, natural order of things. Yet its capacity for its derangement by such forces only goes to demonstrate the arbitrary and indeed artifical character of that order.

Indeed, as some of Horsingdon's mystics have asserted, the region's manifold manifestations of the supranormal - which its strange topography has been all too ready to countenance - demonstrate that our sense of what constitues the world is fractional: a localised understanding of things, which fragments and dissolves when one comes to perceive that the whole is but a particulate of a greater reality.

Journeying through gateways is transformative and unilinear: once traversed, there is no going back - no unseeing of the world which the procession into an expanded frame of reference brings. Historically, those who were willing to take the step into such an altered mode of being attracted the label of witch. Anthropologically speaking, the witch is a category of anti-person: someone who seeks - through traffic with transmundane powers - to transgress and negate the social order; someone whose very existence is ontologically undermining  - pollutants whose contact with the imagined invariant structure of the socio-cosmic hierarchy bring about its disintegration.

Even today, the guardians of the Black Bowers are avoided because they instantiate and immanentize the fundamental human fear that things are not as they seem; an aura of contagion bleeds from their very pores for the very reason that, having stared into the abyss, the abyss stares back at us through them, threatening to contaminate us with the nameless knowledge they embody, jeopardising our cosy view of the world through their very presence.

To walk through one of Horsingdon's Witch Gates - like the one depicted above, once used in rituals of transmutation by the Horsingdon coven - is not only to confront the Outside, but through the transfiguration wrought by such an encounter, to forever become an outsider oneself.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.138: Hollowmere Lights

This image of spectral lights floating over Hallowmere Playing Fields appeared in my e-mail this morning. The photograph was digitally tagged as having been taken at about 11.55pm the previous night. The e-mail contained only a single word: 'Cold' - an epithet which readers might remember from an earlier Transmission. 

About an hour later one of my neighbours informed me that a bedraggled dog had been found on the fields, cold, shaking and soaking wet - apparently it had been left there for most of the night. The lead was still attached to the dog's collar, with no sign of the owner.

Perhaps this is just a case of an unwanted pet callously abandoned. Or perhaps Hallowmere Playing Fields - or whatever lurks in or about the site - has laid claim to another victim.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions 137: The Witch of Scarle Lane.

The bungalow mentioned in yesterday's Transmission was once believed to be the haunt of a witch - at least in according to the playground lore of local children in the 1950s. Whilst he bungalow (located in Scarle Lane near the pathway that grants access to Hallowmere Playing Fields) was unoccupied during this period, it was the focus - especially around Hallowe'en - of a particular rite of passage in which chidren would dare one another to go and knock at it's door in hope of summoning forth the spectre of one 'Mrs Grimer', an old woman who had died in mysterious circumstances sometime in the 1940s, and who had apparently acquired a reputation for witchcraft. Rumour has it that, after her death, the bones of two small children - bound together with catgut - were found buried in her garden. There are, however, no records of this in the archives of the local newspapers (although some local residents maintain that the incident was covered up by Horsingdon Borough Council).

What is on record is the fact that, in 1957, two children who lived nearby did disappear mysteriously - and on the evening of October 31st of that year - never to be seen again. In the aftermath of this local tragedy, it seems that fearful parents in the area forbade their children from going anywhere near the bungalow, and did everything in their power to eradicate the childish tale of Mrs Grimer the Scarle Lane Witch from local memory. The efficacy of such erasures is always questionable, as the vestiges of local lore - the fearful frisson of witchlore in particular - has a habit of hiding in the crooked cracks and nooks and crannies of folk memory.

Indeed, an associate of mine told me that whispered playground tales regarding the Witch of Scarle Lane persisted at least into 1977, when he was dared to knock on the door of that wretched, squalid little bungalow on the night of October 31st: on receiving no immediate answer, and already fearful of who or what might respond, he walked away quickly. However, just my friend was passing the front of the bungalow, a slight movement caught his attention; on turning he noticed that one of the curtains had been drawn back, revealing what he believed could only be a Hallowe'en mask: the deeply creased and greying flesh of an incredibly aged woman, grinning with blackened teeth and possessed of a crooked and pointed nose - and with holes in the face where the eyes should have been.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.136: The Hallowmere Bungalow

This dilapidated bungalow near Hallowmere Playing Fields - which I cant help but think looks like a witch's cottage - once belonged to James Boreham, and to this day rumours persist of underground tunnels or burrows linking the house's cellar to a cave or structure beneath the fields. Until recently, the bungalow evidenced no indication of habitation, but the Black Bower marking its entrance has shown signs of pruning, and yesterday evening prior to my uncounter with the headless pigeons, I heard a scratchy voice singing tunelessly from behind the bungalow's dirty, curtained windows - an eerie, lingering strain as incomprehensible as it was disturbing.

In retrospect, I am led to wondering whether this brief aural encounter with the bungalow's unseen and newly-ensconced occupant might somehow be related to my discovery of the dead birds on the path to Hallowmere Playing Fields...