Till We Become Monsters

By Amanda Headlee

"With her debut novel, Till We Become Monsters, Amanda Headlee raises the genre to a chilling new level. I recommend reading this one with all the lights on." —Phil Giunta, author of Like Mother, Like Daughters

Monsters exist and Korin Perrin knew this as truth because his grandmother told him so. Korin, raised in the shadow of his older brother Davis, is an imaginative child who believes his brother is a monster. After the death of their grandmother, seven-year-old Korin, blaming Davis for her demise, tries to kill him. Sixteen years following the attempt on Davis' life, racked with guilt, Korin comes to terms with the fact that Davis may not be the one who is the monster after all.

Past wrongs needing to be righted, Korin agrees to a hunting trip with his brother and father. But they, along with two friends, never make it to their destination. An accident along the way separates the hunters in the dark forests of Minnesota during the threat of an oncoming blizzard. As the stranded hunters search for each other and safety, an ancient evil wakes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Woodhall Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781949116557

Book preview

Group

To those who face monsters.

CHAPTER ONE

March 1971

Monsters existed.

Korin Perrin knew this was true because his grandmother told him so. Whenever he visited her, she read from her book of folklore, telling him stories of faeries, sea creatures, ape men, and dark creatures that roamed the forests. This information came from her book, so it had to be true.

He sat, curled up on the oversized leather armchair in what used to be his grandfather’s study, the scent of old wood and tobacco heavy in the air despite his grandfather having died long before Korin was born. He loved the sea of books that lined two out of the four walls of the study. Each colored spine sparkled like a hidden gem when the light from the giant bay window shone on them.

His grandmother had rearranged the room for him so that the leather armchair now faced the bookshelves, with its back to the door, as opposed to looking dead-on at the large mahogany desk and bay window behind. On the credenza that sat by the door was his grandmother’s record player, the one his parents had bought her for Christmas last year, after the one she’d received as a wedding gift had finally died after fifty-odd years. She loved classical music and today, the sounds of Wagner drifted around the room. He didn’t know much about Wagner’s music, but he loved the sound of the Valkyries charging in.

Right here, on this chair, was Korin’s favorite place in the world. It was safe. Today, his grandmother sat next to him, squeezed into the chair with her soft plump thighs pressing against his own bony ones. The giant blue leather-bound book cracked open in her hands as she read to him a story about a changeling, a faerie creature hailing from Ireland.

And you know what the wee faeries do with their own children? his grandmother asked in a hushed tone, tilting her head ever so slightly toward him.

No, he answered in the same hushed tone. What?

The faeries sneak into a human household and swap a newborn human baby with one of their own.

Korin stared at her wide-eyed. Really? Why?

Some say it is because the faerie baby would be cared for better in a human household, or that a faerie may love a human child better than her own. Others say it is because the faeries are seeking revenge on a couple, or . . . Her voice started to dip.

Or what? Korin whispered, hanging on her every word.

Or they take a human baby as a gift for the Devil, and they don’t want the humans to know, so they leave a faerie baby in the stolen human baby’s place.

How do the human parents not know their baby was switched? Korin asked, shivering.

His grandmother put her arm around his shoulders. The scent of Shalimar enveloped him in a cloud that smelled of safety. No one could ever hurt him while she was by his side.

This book says it is because faerie babies are shape-shifters and can take on the form and looks of the human baby.

So there could be a lot of faeries that look like humans? How can you tell who is a faerie-human?

Well, his grandmother said, looking back at the pages of the book, faerie babies tend to act out and misbehave. They enjoy creating mischief. Faerie babies and children also love attention, trying to obtain it in all different ways—especially from their human parents.

Korin went silent and stared at his lap. His thoughts instantly went to his older brother. Korin lived in Davis’s shadow and could never seem to get out from under it. He could never seem to get the level of affection he wanted from his parents. That is why he gravitated more to his grandmother. She showed him the love that his parents withheld from him and showered upon his brother. Whenever he was in her house, her entire focus was on him, not his brother. In fact, Korin would go so far as to say he didn’t believe his grandmother even liked his brother.

Yet it was his brother’s constant demand for attention that got him thinking. Could anyone really be that selfish? A faerie child could be.

Granma? Korin asked.

Hmm?

Do you . . . He lowered his voice to a whisper. Do you think Davis is a changeling?"

His grandmother laughed and swept the hand that had been around his shoulder up through her hair, tucking away a few snow-white strands that had come loose from the bun neatly coiled on top of her head. She was silent for a moment, staring at the door that led out of the study. She looked back at him, her ancient wise eyes shimmering, and she winked.

Maybe.

Korin sucked in his breath. If Davis is a changeling, how do I get my real brother back?

Granma!

The door to the study swung open, slamming into the wall behind it. The old cordial glasses that sat on the table near the door rattled from the force.

Korin felt his grandmother’s body stiffen, and in response, his did too. No one could ever hurt him while he was at his grandmother’s side. No one but Davis.

Child! she yelled at Davis. How many times do I have to tell you not to slam doors open that way? And you need to knock before entering a closed room.

Davis shrugged his shoulders. I’m hungry.

Then go to the kitchen and fix yourself something, she said, glaring at him.

A small smile started to prick the corners of Korin’s mouth, but he couldn’t allow it to come through. If Davis caught him smiling, all hell would break loose.

But I want you to do it for me, Davis whined. I like it when you make me a sandwich.

Korin always wondered why his older brother acted more immature than he did. After all, he was two years younger.

Go. The stern direction seethed from his grandmother. He could feel the anger emanating from her body. She was so mad at his brother that it was actually beginning to make Korin uncomfortable.

Make me a sandwich, bitch, Davis said. He laughed as he ran from the room, leaving the door wide open.

Korin immediately grabbed his grandmother’s arm as she leaned forward to get up.

Please stay here. While Korin didn’t like his brother, he knew things wouldn’t turn out well if she went out there. He knew the magic of being tucked away in the study would disappear. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t like seeing his brother get into trouble—especially with his grandmother.

She sighed and leaned back into the chair, the leather squeaking under her bottom as she readjusted herself. She set the book down on her lap and once again reached up to smooth a few fly-away strands of hair. Her neat bun was always a picture of perfection, and she never allowed a single wrinkle to crease her dress. Cleanliness is next to godliness, she’d say, and wink at Korin.

Korin pressed his cheek against the top of her arm as she picked up the book to resume reading. He closed his eyes and drifted off into her words, into the world of monsters and faeries coming to life inside his head.

He was in absolute peace. His grandmother was the only person in the world who truly cared for him. She always went above and beyond to show him that he was loved—by her at least. He couldn’t say the same about his parents or brother. When he was at home with them, he was invisible. They barely spoke to him or showed him any type of attention.

Most of the time, Korin hid in his room reading his own book of folklore, the one his father had bought for him at an estate sale held at a rickety home near the center of Rachet. The house had been owned by a little old man who died there during the winter. Due to heavy blizzards that year, his body wasn’t found until the spring thaw. Korin had heard rumors that the old man’s body froze, and had sat preserved on a ratty wingback chair before a long-dead fireplace in a room lined with books. His frozen clawed hands held the Bible.

Early on after receiving the book, he would try to get his father to read it to him. Korin loved his father’s deep baritone voice. When he read a story, it was more mystical and mysterious, not light and imaginary like when his grandmother read. The magic of the little bond that he and his father started to build was always interrupted by Davis. Unlike his grandmother, his father would put the book down and walk away, leaving Korin to retreat to his bedroom and finish reading the book on his own.

Granma, you were about to tell me how to get rid of a changeling.

She frowned, I’m tired of this tale. Let’s move on to the next one.

Yo, Granma. Davis was at the door again. He just couldn’t stay away.

Their grandmother visibly sighed, but she ignored Davis and turned the page to start a new story.

Hey, I need you now, he said.

Without looking up from the book, she said, You’ll have to wait.

No—now.

She quickly snapped her head in his direction. Young man, you will learn patience and go back into that living room and watch TV. Now!

Fine, he said, but I am not responsible for anything that I break in there while I’m looking for stuff.

She sighed again. Davis, what are you going on about?

Davis walked over to the desk, hopped up, and sat on it. His grandmother hated it when anyone touched the desk because it had been her great-grandfather’s.

You know, Granma, you’re pretty old.

Davis! Korin yelled. He couldn’t handle anyone insulting his grandmother. She was still quite young in his eyes. He believed she was the same age as his mother, just more wrinkly and white-haired.

What? Davis said back to his brother. I’m just telling the truth.

What in the world do you want? his grandmother said.

Isn’t there anything you don’t use anymore because you are so old and will die soon?

Korin inhaled sharply. The spit that was in his mouth hit the back of his throat, causing him to cough uncontrollably. He tasted acid, coughing so hard that bile came up.

Sweetie, are you okay? his grandmother asked as Korin choked back his saliva. He didn’t want to throw up.

She turned her attention back to Davis. You know, child, that is very rude of you to say. Whatever is in this house will be willed to you and your brother after I die.

Davis huffed.

Why in the world are you asking for something, anyway?

I need money, so I gotta pawn something.

What do you need money for?

A new pair of blades for my ice skates. Mom and Dad won’t buy them for me, and I’m gonna be a bad hockey player because of them.

Korin was about to remind him that their parents had just bought him a new set of blades a couple months ago when his brother gave him a look that made Korin fear for his safety.

His grandmother sighed. Korin knew she would give in. Davis was giving her his pitiful look, complete with big sad eyes and trembling bottom lip. It was how he charmed everyone into getting what he wanted. Korin shuddered as he knew his grandmother would give in to Davis’s plea.

Just as he predicted, his grandmother placed the book in Korin’s lap and stood.

Keep the page for me. I’ll be right back.

While her voice was sweet, there was an odd cold look in her eyes that Korin didn’t quite understand. Her jaw was set tightly.

Go, she said to Davis, pointing toward the hallway that led to the stairs at the front of the house. She started walking in that direction.

Davis’s only reply was a big smile as he followed her out of the study.

Korin was left alone. He listened to them ascend the staircase up to her room. He knew she was going to give Davis money for whatever he wanted. He stayed put because he didn’t want to witness his grandmother giving in to his brother—the creature.

Korin turned his attention to the big bay window. Leaves danced on tree branches in the autumn wind. Their colors were beginning to change from emerald green to a brilliance of orange, red, and yellow. Some leaves off the silver birch right outside the window had already fallen. The base of the tree was covered in little yellowish leaf corpses. Korin thought it was sad that leaves were only born in the spring, to live for a summer and then die in the fall. They didn’t even get to see their first birthday.

The book was heavy in his lap. He’d never realized the weight of it before, as his grandmother usually held it when she read to him. The pages stood open to the tale of the Bullebak.

Korin turned back to the story his grandmother had been reading. He didn’t understand why his grandmother wouldn’t tell him how to get rid of his changeling brother. If he could just get rid of Davis and get his real brother back, then their lives could be happy. His life could be happy.

Korin fingered the upper right corner of the page and slowly turned it. The final paragraph spelled out how to get rid of a changeling monster: Throw the changeling into a burning fireplace. Watch the creature jump, and escape up the chimney. By that evening, the human child shall be returned.

Korin couldn’t breathe. This is how he’d get his real brother back.

A sudden crash gave him such a start that he jumped from the chair, dropping the book to the floor, facedown, crumpling some of the pages. In a panic, he rushed out of the study and found a mass lying at the base of the staircase. His eyes wouldn’t focus, but he knew that what was lying there shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be there at all.

As if the world had slowed down to a slow reel, his vision focused—although he soon wished it hadn’t. A small squeak for help escaped his lips as he realized that it was his grandmother at the base of the stairs. She was on her stomach, her neck bent at an odd angle. Her hair had escaped the bun and was wildly strewn about her. She never allowed her hair to be messy.

Stars appeared at the outer limits of his vision, and for a second Korin wondered if angels were there to help. Unfortunately it was reality crashing in on him. He fought off the urge to faint as he looked up to the top of the stairs to see Davis standing there, no emotion on his face and some dollars clutched in his hand.

Korin knelt by his grandmother and shook her shoulder. She made no sound. He bent his head over her face. No breath tickled the hair that hung over his eyes.

Granma . . . Granma? He could barely speak as he continued to gently shake her, trying to get her to wake up. Through his tears he looked up at his brother, but it wasn’t Davis. It was something black and hideous. Its eyes were filled with hate. Korin blinked and the tears cleared his eyes, and now at the top of the stairs he saw the form of his brother as he normally looked.

I didn’t push her. I know that’s what you’re thinking, Davis said, still unmoved.

It hadn’t been his first thought. But it was the second.

Wh-what happened? Korin stammered.

Her greedy butt tripped on something and fell. Karma’s a bitch. She should have thought twice about giving me only five dollars.

Korin felt like spewing every bad word he had ever heard at Davis, but stopped short, not wanting to do it in the presence of his grandmother. He looked back to her form, laid down next to her, and began to sob loudly. He clutched her arm and curled into her warm body, breathing in her scent and mentally trying to urge her to wake up.

Guess I will go call nine-one-one while you lie there like a slobbering idiot, Davis said, and he turned and walked back into their grandmother’s bedroom.

CHAPTER TWO

Glory Perrin’s funeral was small, held at the Methodist church in the center of town. The initial viewing was at ten, with the service at noon. Glory would be put into the ground immediately following the service.

The town itself had no mortician, so Glory had to be taken away to the closest town that had a mortuary, Grand Portage, then returned to Rachet once embalmed. Her final resting place would be in the graveyard behind the church. Nearly all of the town’s citizens were buried in this graveyard, which was quite small compared to other cemeteries nearby.

Rachet, Minnesota, ten miles north of Grand Portage, had a population of 279 people—278 now, seeing as Glory Perrin had just passed away. It was crushing for Albert Perrin, to have lost his mother. Both his parents were gone now, his father having died about fifteen years earlier. Now he knew how his wife Natalie felt. Both of her parents had died in a freak car accident when she was seven. Natalie herself had barely survived the accident. She still carried scars from the accident, including a slight limp. Albert hoped his children wouldn’t have to feel this grief until they were well into their older years. It was hard to no longer have parents.

Natalie was home when she’d gotten the call from police. Had she not been, neither of them would have known what happened for several hours, as he had been out working, logging trees in the forest. A typical workday had him away from home for 11-12 hours if the job site was local. If the job site were over an hour from home, he’d be away for a week or more. His employer had sites all over Minnesota, the Dakotas, and central Canada. Natalie had originally planned to be in Grand Portage, shopping, not returning until the evening, but after she’d dropped the boys off at their grandmother’s house she felt a migraine coming on and went back home to take a nap. She was awakened four hours later, still with a blasting headache, by the ringing phone. She told Albert that she’d forgotten to take it off the hook. The only time she had ever forgotten.

Albert felt guilty about being happy that the boys were there when his mother fell down the stairs. He hated that they had to live through that horror, but the happiness came from knowing she wasn’t alone when she passed. Still, he knew his children would be scarred from this event, Korin more so than Davis. Korin had had a closer relationship with his mother, something else Albert had always been thankful for. He and Natalie struggled to find a balance between the two boys, as Davis just demanded so much attention. Korin was usually content to sit alone and read, which they allowed him to do most of the time. It was Albert’s mother who had intervened, saying that Korin couldn’t grow up alone and ignored; he wouldn’t develop good communication skills. She had stepped in to provide the social interaction that Korin needed.

Davis, on the other hand—well, she didn’t have the time of day for him. It should have been love at first sight when he was born, seeing as he was her first grandchild. Yet she refused to connect with him, observing him from afar. Once she told Albert that Davis had ugly eyes. Albert thought Davis had his father’s pale blue eyes, and never understood why she thought they were ugly.

As Davis grew older and started to talk, she began to show contempt for his attitude. She would tell Natalie and Albert that they allowed Davis to get away with murder. Glory said that they gave too much to Davis and never set any boundaries for him. Albert and Natalie often talked about Glory’s comments, concluding that she just didn’t understand what it was like raising a child in the 1960s. She had raised her own just after the Great Depression, and didn’t have the opportunity to give her children what they wanted.

Although Albert was often angry at his mother for insulting his parenting skills, he realized she had a point. They were terrible at finding a balance. Davis was honestly so damn demanding, and as his parents, they definitely struggled to say no to him. And now he was worried about his youngest. Albert and Natalie needed to change how they raised their boys. Korin was seven, very soon to be eight, and Davis ten; they needed to learn how to act a little more maturely. He would speak with Natalie when they lay in bed later tonight on how they could help their boys grow and be more responsible.

My god, they put the worst color of lipstick on her, thought Albert as he walked up to the casket and looked at his mother. She was painted in makeup—stuff she rarely wore. They had given the mortuary a powder-blue dressing gown to bury her in. Korin really wanted her to be buried in a flowered dress that she wore for Easter Sundays, as he had such fond memories of her wearing it. He told Albert that he loved seeing her stand outside in the sun with the dress on as they ran around the snowy yard in the cold, still-wintry air, finding hidden Easter eggs. But Albert had always thought it was a hideous dress and had no desire to see it again, so he ignored his son’s wishes and pulled the dressing gown from the closet instead. He handed it to Natalie with a murmured Good enough. He was satisfied with the way his mother looked when the mortician had shown them last night.

Now, he, Natalie, and Davis stood at the casket, taking a final look before the doors opened and those wishing to pay their respects filtered in. Korin was nowhere to be found. He was probably hiding in the organ loft; he’d never liked crowds.

Anything else before we start? asked the mortician. He was a wiry man with a receding hairline and a creepy demeanor. Albert got the shivers when the man looked him in the eye. The life of a mortician suited him well.

No, I think we’re all set, Albert replied.

Pastor Barker stood next to the mortician, nervously sliding a bulletin of service between his fingers. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Albert; he’d stopped doing so several years ago. He may have looked pious in his robe and sash, but you couldn’t let the white collar fool you. The pastor’s puffy red eyes and chapped nose solidified in Albert’s mind that this man of God had been screwing around with his mother.

Albert had begun to get suspicious right after his father’s death, when the pastor suddenly started showing up unannounced at his mother’s house. It soon became habit for the pastor to be at Glory’s house for every holiday. Then there were the times the boys mentioned that the pastor was visiting while his mother was watching them. Albert couldn’t help but wonder if she may have been having an affair with the pastor even before his father passed.

Albert used to tell Natalie about his suspicions, but she was so pure-minded that she would continually brush Albert off, saying that Barker was just doing his righteous duty and helping an old, lonely woman cope after the death of the only man she had ever loved in the world.

Albert would roll his eyes. Sure, he was just helping.

She’d smile, completely missing the sarcasm in his voice, and go back to whatever task she was doing in the house. He would always walk away, dwelling on his suspicions.

It’s lipstick on a pig, Davis said aloud when he looked into the casket. Look, Dad, that wasn’t on her face last night. Davis laughed.

Hush, Natalie whispered to her son, swatting him in the arm with her bulletin.

Albert said nothing, but saw anger growing on Pastor Barker’s face. The mortician was unmoved.

"Guess we should let

Reviews for Till We Become Monsters

[Johanne Lykke Jensen · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I do not understand what people found so scary about this. It is kinda sad only it is hard to really feel sorry for either of the brothers. What I took away from this is don't have children because it will suck for either them, you or everyone ?

[pgiunta_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I had the privilege of reading an advance copy. With her debut novel, Amanda Headlee crafts a remarkable and chilling tale around the concept of "Wendigo psychosis." I recommend reading this one with all the lights on.