Malign Frequencies: Further Transmissions from Horsingdon, No.77: Local Witchlore

The hazy, deteriorating light at dusk in Horsingdon obscures as much as it illuminates, falling languidly upon the region’s suburban gardens and the old, small brick sheds one often encounters in those parochial spaces. Whilst ostensibly indices of quiet, pedestrian lives, these outbuildings sometimes hide the decaying remnants of the region’s witchlore: a broken puppet whose features have been pierced with rusted nails; the fading lines of a strange symbol drawn in red chalk on the floor; grimy bottles containing foul-smalling philtres - or perhaps holding the preserved but twisted form of some small, unidentifiable thing.