We Are the Beasts

As mysterious deaths sweep the countryside and rumors of a local beast intensify, many see this as a curse. But for Joséphine and Clara, it''s a dark opportunity to break free from their harsh lives. Step into this chilling, historical horror inspired by the unsolved mystery of the Beast of Gevaudan. When brutal, mysterious deaths start plaguing the countryside and whispers of a beast in the mountains reach the quiet French hamlet of Mende, most people believe it’s a curse--God has sent a beast to punish them for their sins. But to sixteen-year-old Joséphine and her best friend, Clara, the beast isn’t a curse. It’s an For years, the girls of Mende have been living in a nightmare: fathers who drink, brothers who punch, homes that feel like prisons. Now they have a chance to get out. Using the creature’s attacks as cover, Joséphine and Clara fake their friends’ deaths and hide them away until it’s safe to run. But escape is harder than they thought. If they can’t brave a harsh winter with little food...If the villagers discover what they’re doing...If the beast finds them first... Those fake deaths might become real ones.

Auteur
Gigi Griffis writes edgy, feminist historical stories for adults and teens, including The Wicked Unseen and The Empress, a Netflix tie-in. She’s a sucker for little-known histories, “unlikable” female characters, and all things Europe. After almost ten years of semi-nomadic life, she now lives in Portugal with an opinionated Yorkie mix named Luna and a fancy blender that cost more than her couch. Her main hobbies are righteous anger, swearing, and gazing lovingly at the dog or the blender.

Texte du rabat

**Deaths and disappearances pile up as a mysterious beast stalks the French countryside and two girls seize an unlikely opportunity that just might save them all—or serve them up on a platter.

Step into this chilling, historical horror inspired by the unsolved mystery of the Beast of Gévaudan.

When a series of brutal, mysterious deaths start plaguing the countryside and whispers of a beast in the mountains reach the quiet French hamlet of Mende, most people believe it’s a curse—God’s punishment for their sins.

But to sixteen-year-old Joséphine and her best friend, Clara, the beast isn’t a curse. It’s an opportunity.

For years, the girls of Mende have been living in a nightmare—fathers who drink, brothers who punch, homes that feel like prisons—and this is a chance to get them out.

Using the creature’s attacks as cover, Joséphine and Clara set out to fake their friends’ deaths and hide them away until it’s safe to run. But escape is harder than they thought. If they can’t brave a harsh winter with little food… If the villagers discover what they’re doing… If the beast finds them first...

Those fake deaths might just become real ones.

Échantillon de lecture
1

This lamb is going to be the death of me.

I don’t mean that figuratively. He’s been hell-bent on dying ever since he was born. Running headfirst into bramblebushes so deep that we both come out looking like we lost a knife fight. Catapulting himself into deep pools with steep sides he can’t climb out of. And now: off the cliff. Like he thinks he can fly.

It’s only luck that catches him on a small outcropping with a crooked tree. Fifteen feet down the cliff. And this time he’s really ruined me because have I mentioned that I hate heights? Not mentally, not on purpose--but hate in the way that I can’t help. Where my body goes all funny and turns to stone.

“Poor baby.” Clara’s voice is breathless, and her deep-brown eyes are already brimming with tears, like the little softy she is. A tear collects in her black lashes, bounces off in a blink to trace a path down rich-brown skin.

“Poor devil, more like,” I mutter. “Merde.”

I shake my shoulders, trying to stave off the rubbery feeling of looking over the cliff edge. And then, before the fear can paralyze me fully, I’m on my knees, backward, pale hands clenched around a tree root, and over the edge.

My heart is thunder, and my mind the static of a building storm. The thoughts come, unbidden: I see myself crash to the sharp rocks below. Break my back. Crack my head like an egg. My limbs twist outward like a spider’s, dark shadows over gray stone. Dead before I turn seventeen.

I clench the root and my first handhold, tense my whole body. Not today, Satan. I’m not going to freeze on this climb. I’m not going to lose this goddamn lamb. I’m certainly not going to die and leave Clara and Meme with the whole burden of life on their own. They saved me once. What kind of repayment would that be?

The lamb is screaming as I ease myself onto the next foothold, and I wish he’d stop. If there’s anything that makes this worse, it’s the sound of his fear scraping against my own.

I ease to the next handhold. Another. Another. And then I’m there, the cursed lamb trying to clamber up my leg and almost throwing himself to his death. I grab him by the front leg and smush him between myself and the rough stone.

“Fool.” I scowl at him, easing myself more steadily onto the outcropping, propping one foot against the crooked tree.

“BLEAAAA,” he answers, and that better be lamb language for Thank you, goddess.

I glance up. How am I going to get out of this? Climbing all the way back up looks pretty impossible. Below me, the cliff gets smoother, so descending isn’t an option. Maybe I could somehow unlace my dress and throw it up to Clara and she could hoist me . . .

“Clara!” I shout, realizing the simpler solution. “Take off your dress and throw me the end!”

“Josephine.” Clara’s voice has an edge of incredulous laughter above me, and I glance up. She’s lying on her stomach at the edge of the cliff, one hand around a root, the other holding a sturdy-looking branch down toward me.

“Oh.” Trust Clara to already have solved the problem while I was spinning out about whether one of us should get undressed.

She raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously just suggest I take off my dress?”

“I’m kind of in crisis.”

She shakes her head.

“All right, grab hold.”

Clara has moved to brace her feet around the roots of the tree above and is reaching the branch as far toward me as she can. Still, there are a few feet I’ll have to climb on my own before she can help. With a screaming, frantic lamb in my arms.

Merde, I didn’t think this through.

I reach behind my back and loosen the ties on my dress (I guess I wasn’t completely wrong to consider dresses as a solution to our problems), then shove the squirming, muddy, screamy lamb down the front and tighten the ties as much as I can.

“BLEAAAA!” he screams, and it echoes in my ears even after he finishes.

“Sacre Dieu, if you move an inch, I will throw you down this cliff myself,” I mutter, rubbing slow circles into his head to calm him.

“BLEA.” He’s quieter this time. Good.

Here goes nothing. I white-knuckle into the nearest handholds and ease off the ledge. Up. A few inches. A few more.

“BLEAAA.”

“You, shut it.”

Clara giggles, a release of energy more than mirth, but I focus on the wall, the fool lamb trembling against me. This is the most ridiculous rescue in all of history; I’m sure of it.

And then my left handhold gives, and I feel my body…