It stands on the empty moorland on top of the hill above the black water of Arnagill Reservoir, North Yorkshire, England.

What is inside was completed sometime during the 19th century, the outer casing more recently.

The casing was built to hide what is inside. What is inside was built for the creation of lines / television transmissions / electronic communications surveillance / worship / satellite monitoring / to guard the tunnels / to be seen through the snow / as a distant light / to cause those caught inside to scrabble for the way out or risk asphyxiation / to release poisons to the air and to the mind and to the water supply.

Any necromancer could live there.

I could meet the inhabitants / go down into the tunnels and be lost forever / just hide inside without anybody knowing / stop television / broadcast something else or nothing / drink tea / eat toast / wave at people through the hole or scream in terror. Or else : be ejected.

If it were an animal it would be needlessly aggressive and inclined to peck and bite.
If it were a plant it would be tall, poisonous, stinging (causing great and lasting damage but without immediate pain) and inclined to spread.
If it were a mineral it would be fashioned into a tower on a hill.
If it were a poem it would be officially written to commemorate a royal occasion.
If it were a language it would be misleading, filled with jargon and emptied of meaning.
If it were a mask it would be too easily confused with your own face.
If it were a mental state it would cause lasting damage that would never fully go away.
If it was a symbol it would be impossible to distinguish from the colour and texture of the page upon which it was printed.

At night, processes are reversed again. What was made is lost once more. Men turn in empty interlocking circles falling through windows of ice licked by men with nails in their brows, to sit unlikely or sadly next to open sickness with frozen arms stretched forward to enclose sliced holes of sugar and time which alone dull the room of the inside of lost skulls and square to square to square the silted feet of hoards of sulking girls who do not wish to be there and would rather be screaming into the tubes of cork which lead from the chambers they prefer to be locked in to the ends of civilisation, where they can be heard by none save many who dug up there circuses and tents of changing metal magnetised to chests of people, silver and gold, ribs of honey and honey ribs in interlocking empty circles moving of their own accord through eras broken to lose themselves in the mouths of students screaming also down cork tubes of silencing machinery to emerge as nothing from the other side, but to neatly package lemon-flavoured salt crystals to bathe in and lie in and weep from your eyes. Disbelief, unthinking adherence or selective hearing develops.