The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits

I’ll admit, I went into *The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits* expecting something closer to Peters’ breezy historical mysteries, but this is a different beast entirely—darker, stranger, and all the more compelling for it. Grace Conlin’s narration is a masterclass in restraint; she doesn’t overplay the heroine’s fear or the story’s supernatural undertones, which makes the moments of genuine horror land harder. Take the scene in the market where the protagonist first hears the whispered warnings about *los conejos*—Conlin’s voice drops just half an octave, and suddenly, what could’ve been campy folklore feels like a genuine threat. That said, the pacing *does* stumble in the middle. Peters’ detours into local color and political subplots, while atmospheric, occasionally drag when you’re itching for the next confrontation. The real standout, though, is how the audiobook handles the protagonist’s psychological unraveling. Conlin’s performance makes her stubbornness palpable—you can *hear* the cracks in her voice when she doubles down on a bad decision, and it’s infuriating in the best way. The production quality is clean, though I’d dock half a point for a few oddly flat male voices in dialogue (a minor gripe, but noticeable when the rest is so polished). This isn’t a comfort listen; it’s a slow-burn nightmare with a side of gallows humor, ideal for fans of *The Talented Mr. Ripley*’s moral ambiguity or *Mexican Gothic*’s eerie folklore—but with Peters’ razor-sharp prose and Conlin’s unshakable delivery, it’s a ride worth the unease.