Tuesday, October 17, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.290: Residual Haunting

A dilapidated Ministry of Defence listening post at the edge of Horsingdon. A relic of the Cold War, the structure is bound up with the strange paranoia of that era: it is supposedly linked to Horsingdon Bunker by a lengthy series of access tunnels which, according to a few of the more choice rumours surrounding the place, are haunted by an awful presence released as a result the highly unorthodox physics with which the Bunker's research team were experimenting in secret.

Over the decades, the listening post has acquired a reputation as being a focal point of black magical and satanic activity in the region, perhaps in part because of its earlier associations with the mysteries of Horsingdon Bunker - and the residual influence of whatever monstrous forces were raised within its subterrenean confines.

Monday, October 16, 2017

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.289: Lost Souls

This unique and rather unsettling photograph surfaced online recently, and has been doing the rounds of various conspiracy forums dedicated to the mysteries of Horsingdon. Purportedly it depicts an interior section of Horsingdon Bunker, and the large team of scientists who worked there during the 1960s as part of a highly secretive project.

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

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.288: The Haunted Vicarage

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

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.287: The Other Sounds

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

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.286: Aural Spectralities

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

The Horsingdon Transmissions No.285: Luminescent Horror

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 Horsingdon Transmissions No.284: Street Sigils

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.