Monday 21st August 2017
A metal door denying access to those without authorisation meets us at the bottom of the stairwell; regardless, the door swings open slowly and silently - seemingly impelled by an unseen force - as we approach. Only darkness is visible beyond - a darkness infused with a low, monotonous throbbing sound: one akin to the alien signals which sometimes fill the airwaves in the vicinity of Horsingdon's many transmitter arrays, and which speaks in some visceral but verbally incommunicable way of the terrible thing which happened here. It is reverberates with the tonality of extinction.
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