White Ibis

I’ll admit, I side-eyed *White Ibis* when Chelsea spent the first 10 minutes preening in a mirror, but by the time she started bargaining with a witch in a shack that smelled like ‘rotting oranges and old pennies,’ I was hooked—not because I liked her, but because Dalrymple made her *fascinating* in her horrifying pettiness. This is a story that *shouldn’t* work: a unlikeable protagonist, a predictable downfall, and a runtime shorter than most podcast episodes. Yet it does, thanks to two key strengths: the razor-sharp specificity of Chelsea’s vanity (her obsession with her ‘pageant walk’ becomes a darkly comic motif) and Jodi Roybal’s narration, which turns even throwaway lines into something sinister. Roybal’s Chelsea is all nasal entitlement, but when the supernatural bleeds in, her voice drops into a rasp that’s equal parts seductive and decayed. It’s a masterclass in using tone to sell the uncanny. That said, the brevity is a double-edged sword. The horror elements—while atmospheric—feel rushed in the final act, as if Dalrymple hit her word count and called it a day. The witch’s backstory is teased but never explored, leaving the occult stakes frustratingly vague. And while Chelsea’s comeuppance is satisfying, the lack of textual breathing room means some beats land more like outlines than fully rendered scenes. Still, for fans of *The Yellow Wallpaper*’s claustrophobic dread or *Swamp Thing*’s eco-gothic vibes, *White Ibis* delivers a uniquely nasty little tale. Just don’t expect to root for anyone.