The Witch

I went into *The Witch* expecting a standard domestic thriller, but Freida McFadden delivered something far more unsettling: a story that’s equal parts gothic mystery and psychological torment. The narration (by an uncredited performer) leans into the eerie ambiguity of the tale—some lines are delivered with a quiet, almost hesitant tension, as if the narrator is piecing together the horror alongside the reader. It works brilliantly for scenes like Julia’s grandmother muttering about 'the witch in the attic' with a childlike sing-song that’s more disturbing than outright menace. There’s a moment mid-book where the pacing stutters slightly, as if the narrator is forcing a breath before diving back into the fray, which mirrors the protagonist’s own fraying nerves. What made this audiobook stand out, though, was how McFadden weaponizes misdirection. The grandmother’s dementia isn’t just a plot device; it’s a red herring that lingers in your thoughts long after you’ve turned the page (or paused the audio). The twist that lands about three-quarters of the way through is clever but not overdone, though I’ll admit the ending felt a touch rushed—like the story needed one more chapter to properly marinate in its own dread. That said, the production quality is top-notch, with subtle audio cues (distant footsteps, creaking doors) that don’t overpower the narrator’s voice. If you’re the kind of listener who likes their thrillers with a side of existential dread, *The Witch* will haunt you in the best way.