In one small corner of Horsigdon, the ubiquitous transmitter arrays seem to be exerting a very different effect upon the airwaves than elsewhere in the region. Here, at the least populous reaches of Burn Hill, the transmitters seek to blanket the aural landscape with some kind of sonic dampening field; not only do radios fail to pick up any signal whatsoever within this area, but they do not even register static: just an appalling silence that seems to stretch into infinity and feels vertiginous in its density of absence - a feeling like you are falling through forever. It is well worn cliche that nature abhors a vacuum, but one wonders what kind of abnatural presence might seek to fill such a vast and unending absence as produced by the transmitters of Burn Hill.
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