Jason Hill
speaker
612 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Jul 2026
last heard 5 Jul
Jason Hill’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Jul 2026 with 1.
Appearances
Reality dilated and contracted faster and faster, until, in a sudden moment of dislocation, I was sucked into the aperture's shuddering iris.
into a grey, craggy, mist-choked landscape that possessed all the sinister gravitas of a classic Hammer horror film, where the first scene unfolded.
The fog churned and roiled as it wound through the twisted, unpaved streets of a village, past small, thatched-roofed peasant cottages, where their windows shuttered and barred,
A ruined castle loomed on the horizon.
The building jutted from a steep, forested hillside.
The camera swooped over its clustered maze of turrets and towers, where bodies had been impaled upon spires and weather vanes, then panned slowly across a massive lancet window.
showing a stained glass knight locked in everlasting battle against the most fearsome archetype of all demon dragons, whose awful eyes harbored eons of blackest night.
The knight had snapped off his sword not far from the hilt and did not appear to be doing too well.
A bat fluttered past, then another, just in case we still hadn't gotten the hint.
A screen crumpled into darkness, and then the darkness reversed to reveal a cavernous hall that rose to a peak buttressed by heavy wooden beams, which looked as though they'd been stolen from an old church.
Torches flickered in soot-streaked sconces.
Heavy drapes lay tumbled in dramatic folds several yards from the tall windows, again stained glass all over the place.
Moonlight illuminated a pallid figure, scraping away at the strings of a rickety violin.
The figure swayed from side to side, erupting in short, spontaneous bursts of movement the way a spider might.
My innards lurched.
I squirmed in my seat and found a huge gulp of scotch.
The violinist's expression distorted in the rapturous manner of a satiated addict.
His black eyeball rolled at the camera, the pupil devouring the whites of the eye and filling the screen, filling my skull with night eternal.
The room shrank.
A whispering crowd became dry leaves rustled by a stiff autumn wind.
Showing 81–100 of 612 · page 5 of 31
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