Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Four strange lights descend in formation, flanked by a larger pulsating orb, behind the rooftops of houses which stand at the edge of Horsingdon Woods. Such displays are familar to the folk who live around Horsindon Hill and its neighbouring wood and, whilst old tales speak of how the frequency of manifestation of these 'Horsingdon Lights' typically increases during times of uncertainty - or when great danger threatens - which of us can truly say we have ever lived in times when it was not always so?
In any case, for the people of Horsingdon, apocalypse has always lurked just a whisper away: in the monstrous aftermath of devilish folk like James Boreham; in the horrific conjurations of the guardians of the Black Bowers; and in the fearful things which haunt wood and hill on nights when the Horsingdon Lights are seen descending.
Monday, September 18, 2017
There is an old piece of Horsingdon lore concerning 'Witchnails': ritual artefacts supposedly crafted from the fingerbones of hanged witches, and once used by members of the Horsingdon Coven to 'steal the shadow' of those who had offended them either in word or deed. The Witchbones would typically be employed aetherically to 'pin' the unsuspecting victim's shadow to that terrible, praeternatural otherwold which is the habitation of Those Who Wait - following which the miscreant's dreams would forevermore be haunted by monstrous portents and malign visions, eventually driving them to madness and death.
It is also said that the guardians of the Black Bowers wilfully undergo this ordeal as an iniatory rite of passage, with only those possessing force of will to assimilate the nightly visions of horror without allowing their sanity to crumble entirely being formally inducted into that strange and recondite order. Needless to say, knowledgeable as they are in the use of Witchbones, few are willing to anger or antagonise the guardians of the Black Bowers.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
Most who have seen the image consider it to be nothing more than a monstrous hoax; others amongst the older residents of the region - having witnessed many strange and unaccountable things in their time - are more circumspect about the matter.
Saturday, September 16, 2017
Ominously dark clouds gather in the skies above this transmitter array located atop a Ministry building situated near an industrial park on the boundary of Horsingdon and Trentford. Unusual meteorological phenomena seem to clyster about these sights where the silent distort of alien signals rip the atmosphere and rend the fabric of reality. At night, strange lights can be seen flickering behind the black and pendulous clouds, and the smell of ozone falls to damp earth and wet concrete as something new and terrible bores a tunnel through unseen dimensions in an attempt to birth itself into our world.
Friday, September 15, 2017
For tne most part, the people of Horsingdon dwell in the relative safety and calm of the daylight hours - regardless of how transient those things may truly be: for they know all too well of the terrors that stalk the region's nighted landscape.
Then there are the Nightfolk: those who make the darkness their habitation, and in doing so renounce the last tattered remnants of their humanity.
Yet for all that, the darkness is undying - such that all who make their home in Horsingdon are in some degree kin to those forlorn and inscrutable Nightfolk.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Strolling along one of the more gentle inclines to the top of Burn Hill, one easily discover this cracked and crooked stone stairway- considered by many to be immeasurably ancient. Over the years it has acquired a curious local nomenclature: the Secret Stairway. Many legends cluster about the place, although a typically recurrent one concerns local inhabitants witnessing a line of figures - all robed and hooded - climbing the stairway toward the hilltop at twilight; according to this particular tale, the locals, intrigued by this remarkable scene and suspecting witchcraft, follow the curiously-clad interlopers from a short distance behind. On arriving at the crown of Burn Hill, they are surprised to discover it vacant and desolate, with no sign of the strange figures whose footsteps they had so recently shadowed.
Such tales have encouraged the belief that, whilst the stairway does indeed facilitate a transition between places high and low, its true destinations are neither the base nor the crown of Burn Hill; rather, it is the case that the stairway marks a point of interpenetration, such that the zones it ultimately ascends and descends to are not to be located on any map scribed by human hand.
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
The remnants of an ancient circle of stones in Horsingdon Woods. Known locally as 'witchstones', whatever the original purpose of these squat paeleolithic structures, they continued to be used by the Horsingdon Coven at least until the insidiously destructive witch-hunts which swept through the region until the latter part of the 17th Century;indeed, there are those who claim that the inheritors of the Coven continue to make use of these ritual sites into the present day.
The circles, it is believed, are arranged about nodal ponts of suppurating praeternatural power within the landscape, which the guardians of the Black Bowers (who also allegedly make use of these sites) claim can be mobilised as portals to those ineffable abysses which form the habitation of Those Who Wait - as well as to other unnameable and nightmarish zones.
Needless to say, the recent history of the witchstones is clustered about with many uncanny circumstances, inexplicable disappearances, monstrous apparitions, and unexplained deaths; as such they are best avoided by casual sightseers to the region.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
An amorphous glowing globule hovers above discarded machinery left in an abandoned access tunnel below Eastcote Station - not far from the Haunted Archway. Encounters with such phenomena - often refered to as 'ghostlights' after fragments of regional folklore in which similar lights appear as the souls of the unquiet dead - are not uncommon amongst the urban explorers and psychogeographers who seek to map those unseen territories which lurk just beneath the surface of Horsingdon's exoteric topography. And sometimes such explorers disappear in mysterious and disconcerting circumstances - often in or about locales where these luminescent entities are said to cluster.
Monday, September 11, 2017
Unsurprisingly, widespread suspicions concerning Jemimah Mason's probable involvement in witchcraft drew the eye of Deliverance Fowler - one of Horsingdon's itinerant witch hunters. However, before Fowler was able to bring Mason to trial to bring her to trial, she was seen - cloaked and hooded - crossing the bridge over Horsingdon Brook, with Black Owen scuttling at her heels. Apparently Mason was muttering something under her breath and tracing curious signs in the air before suddenly disappearing - with her familiar in tow- as she reached the mid-point of the bridge.
Since that time, there have been regular reports of a spectral, hooded figure - often accompanied by a much smaller, glowing orb (not unlike the one which appears towards the middle, left-hand edge of the photograph above). Whilst some have claimed that these are the ghosts of Jemimah Mason and Black Owen returning to haunt the present for their unfair persecution in the past, there are no records of her (or her familiar, for that matter) being brought to trial for practising witchcraft. Indeed, as per the above account, it appears to be the case that both Jemimah Mason and her accompanying rodent disappeared suddenly, and under highly mysterious circumstances.
If one compares accounts of the spectral phenomena which have appeared on the bridge over the decades, it seems that in recent years there has been a notably tendency amongst witnesses to describe their experiences in much greater detail - almost as if whatever does lurk about the bridge is on the cusp of returning itself to a more concrete - perhaps material - form. This has led to some of the region's more knowledeable students of occult matters to speculate that perhaps Mason and Black Owen's disappearance was due to their transitioning to another realm of being entirely - perhaps uncoupling themselves from time and space via the application of the same 'strange witcheries' mentioned in yesterday's post. And if Jemimah Fowler and Black Owen are on the cusp of returning to our world, one cannot help but wonder as to what kind of monstrous transformations might have afflicted them during their sojourn within the vast and unnammeable Outside...
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Taken from J.L. Bellingham's newsletter The Horsingdon Paranormal News - which was circulated amongst Forteans and would-be paranormal investigators in the late 1960s - this curious image purports to depict some of the members of the Horsingdon Coven as it existed at the time. The short article - submitted anonymously to the newsletter - accompanying the photograph notes that the Coven participated in 'a strange kind of witchery, wholly unlike anything which the current author has encountered during three decades of research into the history of witchcraft and satanism within the British Isles'. Speculation abounds as to the identity of the anonymous author of this piece, which some believe to have been Roland Franklyn (who, it has been subsequently claimed, is one of the robed and hooded figures depicted in this now-infamous photograph).
Saturday, September 09, 2017
Scattered throughout the region - invariably in the more isolated, out-of-the-way places - sit windowless, concrete bunker-like structures. Most of these heavily fortified sites were constructed at the behest of the Ministry of Defence during the 1970s, and are referred too in what little documentation is publicly available concerning them as lead-lined 'containment facilities'. Whilst there is some speculation that these are silos meant for storing nuclear waste, other rumours suggest the sinister-looking installations serve to contain even worse threats: threats which exist outside the spectrum of human conception to which we have become habituated; threats whose very existence jeopardises the fundamental structure of reality; threats from worlds wholly-other than our own.
Friday, September 08, 2017
This is a partial image of a photograph which was recently discovered amongst some classified files which had accidentally found their way into the public archives of Horsingdon Borough Council. The files and the photograph were quickly removed from the publicly-accesible section of the repository almost as soon as the mistake was discovered - but not before this photograph was taken. Apparently the files themselves included information pertaining to curious sonic experiments conducted on Horsingdon Hill by members of Northwich Polytechnic's Department of Radiophonics in the early 1960s - experiments conducted on behalf of the Ministry of Defence.
The individual who stumbled over the files only had a short time to examine them prior to the archivist demanding their return, but noted accounts of two researchers - including one member of the team who is partially pictured above - disappearing mysteriously in the vicinity of Horsingdon Hill whilst conducting the experiments. Some say that these two unfortunates were taken by whatever power lurks within the Hill as payment for being woken by said interlopers from whatever inconceivable dreams haunted its endless slumber...
Thursday, September 07, 2017
A remnant of the Cold War on a small hillock close to Burn Hill - supposedly the entry point to a more extensive underground Ministry of Defense complex. All such entry points have been sealed with lead-lined casings and concreted over in the aftermath of an event which occured in the late 1970s, of which no public records remain. Whilst the land is now accessible to the public, this is an area rarely frequented by the locals on account of what has been heard at night emanating from these sealed portals - and on account of the long history of witchlore associated with the locale. Whether these two seemingly disparate matters are related is unclear - but it is curious that many of the government installations which dot the region appear to align so precisely with the arcane topography and folkloric psychogeomorphology of the lsndscape hearabouts.
Wednesday, September 06, 2017
This overgrown church at the edge of Horsingdon Wood is believed to be one of the oldest buildings in the region: parts of its structure date back to the 13th Century, whilst the walls contain tiles and brickwork from even older Romano-British buildings. Despite the fact that it has been deconsecrated and has been stripped of its previous name - St. Edmunds - the church is still in use by a curious sect said to be an heterodox offshoot of the Romanian Orthodox Church: certainly faint chanting has been heard coming from the building at various times, and curious lights have been reported in the vicinity of this now nameless place of worship.
Tuesday, September 05, 2017
Beneath Eastcote Station stands this seemingly innocuous archway - providing access between the tracks and platforms for maintenance staff. However, strange rumours cluster about the archway, including reports of a shadowy figure seen standing within its recess, only to suddenly disappear seconds later, and of workers experiencing an almost praeternatural chill on passing through the aperture - as well as a sudden feeling of disorientation and vertigo, as if one is standing upon the brink of some vast and nameless abyss.
There seems to be no reason for the archway's haunted character - although some claim that it is a gateway which has somewhow bored through to the 'Secret Alleys' which are the haunt of the Shanklin Man, and which are also said to constitute some kind of invisible realm or zone which runs parallel to or interpenetrate's the arcane topographies of the region. But as to exactly what it is or where it leads to - that is one mystery which the people of Horsingdon are in no hurry to solve.
Monday, September 04, 2017
Yet another monolithc Ministry installation, not far from Trentford and the Ebury Way - this time sporting one of the famed 'golfball' radar arrays found at sites like RAF Menwith and RAF Fylingdales - both products of the apocalyptic paranoia of the Cold War, and both suffused with rumour of inhuman and praeternatural presences haunting their respective locales.
The above building was apparently tasked with tracking unidentifiable aerial phenomena - ostensibly as a safeguard against a surprise Soviet attack; other accounts tell a different story: one which involves the marshalling of forbidden, occult mathematics and alien ritual technologies to penetrate the membrane between worlds, at a point where it was demed to be especially worn and thin, with a view to weaponising those unspeakable forces and incomprehensible physics which lurk beneath the visible surface of things. That so many of the Ministry buildings in the region - superficially empty and untenanted - remain haunted by the silent, abject ghosts of technichians, scientists and administrators now condemned forever to wander the numinously hollow shells of these installations in a perpetual state of awestruck horror, speaks to both the horrifying success and awful failure of such a monstrous project.
Sunday, September 03, 2017
Four strange lights manifest above the treetops of Horsingdon Hill - and by the morning another of the resident from the local to the area will have bern reported missing: perhaps a dog-walker who stayed out just a little too late, or an errant rambler who took the wrong path through the woods to satify their curiosity regarding strange chanting heard from a nearby clearing. There is good reason why even the police avoid entering the locale at night - especially on the eve of certain festivals - unless utmost necessity complels them.
And those who have survived an encounter with whatever forces lurk within and about the Hill invariably refuse to speak of what they have witnessed - perhaps because human language is too poor a tool of signification to articulate that which transcends the linear reasoning of moderately sapient hominins.
Thus, when confronted by the devestating insignificance which an encounter with these praeternaturally luminescent phenomena and all that they infer, the people of Horsingdon typically do the only thing they can: turn their faces away from the deadly light of revelation, and pretend that all is right with the world.
Saturday, September 02, 2017
Anthropologists Maurice Bloch and Jonathan Parry argue that most human cultures symbolically reconfigure death as a regenerative process, through mortuary practices and funerary rites which present the endings of life as a transition into a new kind of existence - thus ensuring the renewal and continuity of society (and the social order as a whole) in face of human mortality. Criminals were often buried at crossroads, inferring both a temporal and spiritual banishment from the social world into the cosmic wilderness of the Outside: a realm which is without law or reason.
One cannot help wonder, then, what signals might be transmitted or received at such a space of transgression and transition - and to what sinister purpose?
Friday, September 01, 2017
There have been no burials in the ancient Eastcote Cemetery (located a short distance from Horsingdon Hill) in over a century, largely on account of of the inexplicable disinternments of then recently-buried corpses reported there at the turn of the 20th century - and the partially-gnawed condition in which the corpses were discovered in the aftermath of these monstrous exhumations, sprawled ignobly a short distance from their disturbed graves.
Even today, there are rumours of loping figures seen running between the gravestones at the dead of night; there are even older rumours of tunnels burrowed deep below the cemetary, supposedly leading to some of the properties of the Boreham family, as well as to certain ritual sites once used by the Horsingdon Coven.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
That the landscape - both ancient and modern - inhers with praeternatural power appears to be an uncontested truism in Horsingdon, such that it would be surprising if the mysterious Ministry did not employ such power as a result of its investigations into the arcane secrets and occult enigmas of the region; as a case in point, the hard modernist angles of this abandond and now hollow structure speak to an abject and inhuman totalitarianism which seems to have been the Ministry's ultimate goal: marshalling the spectral horrors and alien science unearthed during its delvings throughout the region to produce a new political order - one defined entirely in terms of a cold, uncaring universe of absolute, featureless uniformity, and governed by the absolute mechanism of an vast, indifferent and unwavering bureaucracy whose only purpose is the effacement of difference. One can only begin to imagine the kinds of monstrous transfigurations and deformations of the human essence such a system, instantiated within the very architecture of the place, might have once been inflicted upon the building's occupants - and one can only speculate as to how this might pertain to the disappearance of those lost souls since claimed by the edifice.
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Whatever the actual nature of such luminous aerial phenomena, there can be little doubt that they cluster around those locales within the region traditionally associated with the dire rites of primordial witchcraft - locales at which such rites are said to have scoured the walls of the world membraneously thin, allowing egress into our realm of things which should not be: things whose amorphous protuberances glow treacherously with a captivating radiance; things like great angler fish swimming through the vast abysses of space, enticing their unwitting victims with a wondrous luminosity toward the fanged maw of some unknowably horrible fate; things which whip the darkness with an immortal hunger which can never be satiated.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
This neolithic stone seat - known as the Toad King's Throne - rests on the bank of a wide pond or mere not far from Burn Hill. According to the folklore of the region, the eponymous Toad King was apparently one 'Old Tom', the bactrachian familiar of Mother Jenner who led the Horsingdon Coven during the late 1700s. As the story goes, Old Tom grew so grotequely fat on the blood of its mistress that it was forced to take refuge in the pond from the prying eyes of her inquisitive neighbours, and its so-called throne was constructed by Mother Jenner herself so that, once it had been called forth from the murky depths, she could sit with the enormous toad on her lap and nurse it with her own lifeblood.
However, as already intimated more recent archaeological investigations have revealed the seat to be older by far than the tale allows; in addition to which, there are darker rumours of something equally ancient which would draw its slimey bulk out of the pond and seat itself on the throne in order to receive bloody sacrifice from its worshippers - perhaps this was the very same entity which Mother Jenner called to her as familiar and treated as if it were her very own child.
Monday, August 28, 2017
1970s Brutalism oversees the Horsingdon landscape in the form of this building, erected on land acquired via compulsory purchase order by the Ministry of Defence and closed to the public (the area within which the structure stands is enclosed by chain-link fencing topped with barbed-wire). Rumour has it that secret tunnels link it to Horsingdon Bunker. No one has ever been seen going into or out of the installation, and it is unclear as to what it's purpose is.
The land around it, however, is stricken by an unnatural silence and appears to be bereft of any animal life whatsoever - except for those figures whic are occasionally encountered looking out from the internal perimeter of the installation: dressed entirely in black military overalls, wearing helmets with reflective visors, always standing stock still, and staring silently and facelessly in a manner that seems to terrify even the most persistant and inquisitive tourists to this strange and unsettling location.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
One of the reasons for Roland Franklyn's visit to Horsingdon in the late 1960s was to facilitate the relocation of Ultimate Press, from its prior location in the Severn Valley to the premises shown above (located in a rather grubby industrial estate). As well as specialising in the publication of rare occult monographs - including Franklyn's own We Pass From View - Ultimate Press apparently had a very successful sideline in publishing works of fetishistic, sadomasochistic and occult-inflected pornography (it is rumoured that Franklyn himself penned a number of titles for this line).
The reasons for Ultimate Press' relocation remain unclear, but at there time there was talk of a scandal involving its unnamed owner, who was apparently questioned by the police regarding the disappearance of a number of sex workers in the Severn Valley region - although it seems that no charges were brought against this mysterious individual.
Ultimate Press was finally forced to close its doors in the early 1980s after it moved into video production and distribution - subsequently becoming the focus of the public and media backlash against 'video nasties', even being investigated once again by the police in relation to allegations of its involvement in the distribution of snuff films. According to an unverifiable account, one of these films involved some kind of orgiastic occult ritual, the instigator of which was seen to transform into a bloated, headless entity which subsequently feasted upon the celebrants using leech-like maws which opened in the palms of its hands. Curiously, this account mirrors reports which began to surface in the early 1970s of a bloated, headless figure seen lurking about Horsingdon cemetary at night. More recently have been occasional reports of the silhouette of a bulky, seemingly headless humanoid figure seen framed against the upper floor windows of Ultimate Press' one-time premises.
Saturday, August 26, 2017
Saturday 26th August 2017
A brief glimpse through the Doorway - both figuratively and literally. My camera was only able to capture a portion of the amorphousness of the nethermost blight which had been called up within that chamber - a chamber whose lead-lined walls were thankfully inscribed with the most awful wards and protective sigils to prevent that thing from ever leaving. A portion of nuclear chaos embodied and incarnate. The stench of dead time which has forever stained our souls with its polluting and irradiated dust. Vortical space consuming itself ouroboros-like, leading nowhere and everywhere. The monotonous throb of the universe's lifeforce ebbing away in an unlighted chamber beyond space-time, accompanied by mad, atonal piping. A doorway within a doorway to someplace unimaginable - a doorway which I now believe many of the people who worked on this experiment stepped through, in order to erase any memory of their existence on account of what they had brought into the world: that thing which which lurks still, shuttered only by lead-lined walls and arcane symbols, deep below the Horsingdon landscape.
Friday 25th August 2017
A closed airlock - and the source of the throbbing sound which suffuses this part of the complex. It is the sound of entropy, the final heat death of the universe, made manifest by means of the arcane technologies employed in this place: weaponised time - or perhaps something worse. Of course the door tells us that it needs to be kept closed. we open it regardless.
Within a steel-barred enclosure near the airlock stands the militarised ritual regalia of the priests of this place - protection against radiations both corporeal and arcane. It somehow seems eerily mocking of the morphology of the crow mask used by the guardians of the Black Bowers which we encountered at the entrance to this place. It reeks of inhumanity and the end of all things.
Wednesday 23rd August 2017
Strange machineries surround and airlock in the far wall of the antechamber which the command centre overlooks, and from which the throbbing sound continues to emanate. Nothing seems to power the machines, but they are alive with activity - haunted insistently by the ghosts of their unknown purpose - or perhaps energised by the awful thing which awaits us beyond the airlock...
Tuesday 22nd August 2017
Pressing on through the darkness, we encounter a corridor of cramped living spaces which opens into what appears to be the bunker's command centre. Both the living spaces and command centre are habitation to strange, silent, staring mannequins. Why they have been arrayed here seems to be part of the incomprehensible ritual logic of the place. Or were they perhaps once human, but since transformed into their current mindless and empty puppet state on account of what they did here?
In the command centre, lever-arch files and ledgers sprawl across the tables - although none of them seem to deal with anything relating to the operation or bureaucracy of the bunker; rather, they consist of techno-occult schematics and algebraic grimoires composed according to an alien mathematics. The monitors and screens in the command centre are all blank. beyond the command centre stands another door from which the incessant throbbing noise emanates more loudly and insistently.
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.
Sunday 20th August 2017
An adjoining door in the map room opens on to a stairwell which leads further into the bowels of the bunker. Vague phantom presences seem to lurk about this area: perhaps the silent ghosts of those who perished within the depths of this place, seeking egress into the human world, but forever denied that possibility on account of how their humanity became distorted by what they did here.
Saturday 19th August 2017
Beyond the hollow void of scientists' quarters stands some kind of control room with a map of the southern parts of England etched upon perspex and illuminated by a strange green light: it delineates the contours of an occult topography, littered with incomprehensible mathematical equations and arcane symbols - a cartographomantic simulacra of some kind of tectonic and psychogeographic summoning grid.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Friday 18th August 2017
This sign hangs over a door which opens on to a large, empty and unlit room - one giving no clue as to whether it was the sleeping quarters or workspace of the scientists in question; regardless, it is a space suffused with a chill aura of utter, haunting absence - as if something thing truely, abominably terrible happened here: an event so terrible that it could not be countenanced at some fundamental level of things, forcing its erasure - and those involved in it - from the fabric of reality entirely, leaving inly a void where their ghosts should be.
Friday, August 18, 2017
Thursday 17th August 2017
The sinister hum of archaic (yet still functional) technologies forms the ubiquitous sonic background to the aura of praeternatural dread that suffuses Horsingdon Bunker. The question as to who is operating these machines - and for what purpose - is one which the guardians of the Black Bowers who have led me to this place refuse to answer.
Wednesday 16th August 2017
One of the guardians of the Black Bowers leads silently and solemnly down an immense corridor - a signifier of what Roger Luckhurst refers to as 'institutional dread' - into the abyssal core of Horsingdon Bunker, where supposedly there await terrible secrets whose disclosure threatens to unravel the very fabric of reality...
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
A house in the woods: overgrown, deteriorating, partially-hidden by trees and untenanted - or is it? For this long-neglected building hides Horsingdon Bunker: a site haunted by many sinister secrets, and overshadowed by its proximity to absolute alterity: those terrifying, prenumbral realms of unknown entity, supposedly unlocked by the military scientists once deployed here, and who accidentally stumbled across a monstrous physics whilst fumbling blindly about unfathomable occult technologies extracted from the epistemological, cryptological and ideological detritus of post-war Europe; men and women who sought to excavate to the furthest foundations of reality, only to find it teetering on the edge of a black abyss; men and women who did so at the behest of concepts - 'god', 'queen', and 'country' - which the knowledge they acquired must have surely rendered hollow and meaningless; men and women of who neither nor sound now remains.
Monday, August 14, 2017
Monday 14th August 2017
The approach to Horsingdon Bunker leads through a thickly-wooded area dotted with rusting and heavily-overgrown coorugated outbuildings, overseen by an old watchtower. In a shed which stands just outside the bunker's entrance, there sits an abandoned military transport, upon which rests what appears to be an old plague doctor's mask: a piece of ritual apparel which, in the symbolic language of Horsingdon's folklore, represents the crow: both a harbinger of the transition from the realm of the living to that of the dead - thus a totem presaging the point of separation between our world and the world of the Dead Gods - and as a ward against the pestilence and ontological corruption which infects our world when it comes into contact with the inhabitants of that zone: Those Who Wait.
In any case, the placement of such a ceremonial device speaks clearly as to the presence of the guardians of the Black Bowers at this location.
The map co-ordinates provided to me by Frater X led me to a dirt track on the very outskirts of Horsingdon, close to the boundary which separates that borough from Trentford. Looming above me was yet another of those transmitter arrays which cast their weird sonic shadow over the region.
Frater X had already informed me that others of his Order would meet me at this location which, he also intimated, was also the site of the almost-mythic Horsingdon Bunker: a post-Cold War installation built by the MoD as a control centre from which to continue government and military operations in the event of the Cold War going hot - but repurposed (as rumour has it in conspiracy circles) by the mysterious Ministry in light of something supposedly referred to in top secret briefing documents as 'The Event'. Exactly what this is remains unclear, but apparently most of the evidence points towards the occurrance of a catastrophe of extinction-level magnitude - most likely as an outcome of an even more clandestine aspect of the Cold War: an arms race involving the attempted weaponization of inscrutable alien and occult technologies which, it is alleged, began at the tail-end of World War II.
In any case, Horsingdon Bunker has, over the past two decades, been the nucleus of a great deal of contemporary folklore, wherein it figures as the site of manifestation of any number of strange and outlandish paranormal occurances.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Saturday 12th August 2017
One of the guardians of the Black Bowers, lurking furtively about the gothic archway of Boreham’s Folly – a rare instance of members of this highly secretive community allowing someone who is not of their order to photograph them. This was also, in part an initiation and invitation: for reasons best known to themselves, this encounter with one of their number led to my inclusion in a psychogeographical exploration of the long abandoned and rumour-haunted Horsingdon bunker: a locale of such sinister repute that many of the region’s inhabitants refuse to acknowledge its existence. In any case, my meeting with the mysteriously named ‘Frater X’ at Boreham’s Folly led to a brief exchange, during which a time, date, and set of map coordinates were communicated to me.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Friday 11th August 2017
A view of Boreham's Folly in Horsingdon Wood: a mock ruin built in the form of a partially collapsed and dilapidated gothic archway, the folly is surrounded by rumour of the sinister occult geometries employed by James Boreham in its construction - and the even more sinister purposes for which it was commissioned. In any case, this proved to be the starting point for a curious series of events - constituting the Horsingdon Transmissions' first field report - which I will detail over the coming weeks.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
I took the above photo of the transmitter array near Northwich Park whilst travelling home earlier this evening; only later did I notice the almost-perfect sphere which can be sen in the top left-hand corner of the image. I didn't observe the object at the time, so its appearance on the photo remains something baffling; its proximity, however, to one of the region's ubiquitous transmitters does raise disturbing questions regarding who - or what - is being called forth from out of the gulfs of space by the uncanny signals which, for unknown reasons, the arrays appear to continually broadcast with an almost religious fervour.