Gloria

John Pirhalla’s performance is the beating heart of this audiobook, and it’s a damn good one. His Gloria is a masterclass in exhausted defiance—her voice cracking just enough to sell the weight of her grief, but never tipping into melodrama. When her mother, *alive* and bizarrely youthful, starts dropping 80s slang into conversations about funeral arrangements, Pirhalla’s tonal whiplash sells the absurdity without undercutting the horror. That’s Little’s genius here: he forces you to laugh before he makes you flinch. The production team deserves credit too for the way they handle transitions between Gloria’s mundane reality and the creeping, surreal elements. A single, distorted laugh track over a phone call? Chilling. The pacing is tight, too—no meandering, just relentless escalation once the gloves come off. That said, the ending left me a little cold. Not because it’s unsatisfying, but because Little trusts the audience to sit with ambiguity, and some listeners might want firmer answers. Also, Gloria’s brother’s role feels underdeveloped—he’s there to react to the chaos, not to drive it, which occasionally makes him feel like a narrative placeholder. But these are minor quibbles. *Gloria* is a standout horror audiobook because it trusts its audience to handle discomfort without spoon-feeding scares. If you love horror that stings more than it shocks, this is a must-listen.