Bêtes tueuses

I’ll admit, I approached *Bêtes tueuses* skeptical of yet another ‘creepy animals’ collection—until the first story, Hearn’s *Oshidori*, left me staring at my own reflection in the dark. There’s a rhythm to this anthology that’s almost *musical*: the stories build like movements in a symphony, from the operatic tragedy of a vengeful bird to the cold, clinical horror of Doyle’s Brazilian cat (which, by the way, might ruin house pets for you forever). Caulier’s narration is a revelation—his French is crisp but never stiff, and he has this trick of dropping his voice to a whisper at just the right moment, forcing you to lean in. The pacing, though, is where opinions might divide. Some tales (*Le Singe*, for instance) drag their knuckles a bit too long, while others (*Le Loup* by Guy de Maupassant) feel truncated, like a campfire story cut short. The production itself is flawless—no distracting edits, no uneven volume—but I wish the directors had taken more risks with atmosphere. A few stories (the Lovecraft-adjacent *Les Rats dans les murs* comes to mind) *beg* for a layered soundscape, yet the audio stays pristine, almost sterile. That said, the lack of gimmicks lets the writing shine, and what writing it is: Maupassant’s wolf isn’t just a predator; it’s a metaphor for colonial violence. A Brazilian cat isn’t just a killer; it’s a critique of scientific arrogance. My only real gripe? The anthology’s back half sags slightly under lesser-known authors whose contributions, while competent, lack the bite (pun intended) of the heavyweights. Still, when Caulier growls the final line of *La Bête*, you’ll forget all that—and double-check the locks.