Shedding
SirDunksie for Narrator (British)
Run-time: Approx. 10 minutes.
🎧 Narrative VoiceTone: Naturalistic and grounded — the narrator sounds like an ordinary person slowly unraveling. The voice should draw the listener close: tense but restrained, as if trying to stay rational while something impossible creeps in.
Accent: UK accent preferred (story set in England; references Tesco, marigolds, etc.).
Vocal quality: Male. Weary, introspective, and unguarded. The horror comes not from shouting but from containment — the quiet panic of someone realizing they’re not alone.
Performance range: Ability to subtly shift from domestic realism to psychological dread without breaking tone. The pacing should be deliberate and rhythmic, matching the story’s escalating obsession and disgust.
Audition deadline: October 15, 2025
Casting decisions: October 16, 2025
Recording deadline: October 21 (have a little flexibility by a couple days if needed)
Release: October 28 on The Cosmographia Codex Substack and Camp Cosmographia Radio on YouTube
🎧 File Requirements
Format: MP3 for auditions; WAV required for final recording
Sample rate: 44.1 kHz or higher
File naming: [YourName]_Shedding_Audition.mp3 (auditions) / [YourName]_Shedding_Final.wav (final)
Final files (when ready for production) should be clean, broadcast-ready voice tracks: no background noise, no music/effects, minimal breaths, consistent levels.
Please let me know if you need to know anything more about me or the project. You can also learn more about my writing and production history at https://www.ninaalvarez.com/nina-alvarez-writing
- english
- british
- male adult
- narration
- male young adult
- british (london)
(an ordinary guy talking himself through a tedious task while something feels “off”): I crouch, straining my knees, and peel the strand free until it snaps. Too dark to tell the colour. Could be brown. Could be black. Naomi hasn’t been here for a week, and her hair’s long—but not this long.
(keep it quiet, not theatrical): I yank hard, snapping the hair into a bundle. It smacks into my chest, reaching up my neck, touching my lip. I blast the tap on, slamming handfuls of water into my eyes and mouth.
(disbelief turning to understated horror): The hair keeps coming. More and more, unravelling like a clown’s handkerchief. Then it stops. I lean closer. Something pale… lumpy… floating up through the drain. It’s staring right back at me.
