Dana Mele knows a thing or two about getting our hearts pumping. After writing several thrillers, it’s come to be expected from the author who is taking things further by adding more horror to their new book. This brand-new read not only brings dark small-town secrets to life, but is sure to leave you on the edge of your seat until the final page as one twin tries to figure out what happened to her sister or, rather, how the most unexpected person mysteriously took over her body.
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive first look at Dana Mele’s The Beast You Let In, which is set to be released on April 7, 2026. The book follows two twin sisters, Hazel and Beth, who couldn’t be further apart from each other especially during one night at a party that leaves one missing. But the next day she appears and claims to a girl who was murdered years ago. Is it all a lie? Or did something sinister happen that night? Here’s some more info from our friends at Sourcebooks Fire:
Everyone in the rural town of Ashling knows the tale of Veronica Green, a teen who was murdered in the woods. But did a party trick bring her back to claim her revenge? A fast-paced, suspenseful YA horror from the author of Summer's Edge and People Like Us.
There is no one Hazel trusts less than her self-centered twin, Beth. So when Beth abandons her at a party she didn't want to attend in the first place, Hazel decides not to let it ruin her night. She throws herself into flirting and telling ghost stories over a Ouija board. Hazel might not be the popular twin, but she is going to have fun if it kills her.
Except Beth doesn't come home that night, and Hazel's anger morphs into anxiety. It only sharpens when Beth reappears a day later, disoriented and claiming to be Veronica Green, a teen who was murdered in their small town years before. If it isn't a possession, Beth is really good at faking it. Did they accidentally release a vengeful horror during the party?
Hazel must uncover what happened to Veronica all those years ago if she's going to save Beth. But the truth may destroy them both—if they don't destroy each other first.
Ready to find out what really happened? Read on if you dare! Just make sure to pre-order The Beast You Let In so you can uncover the real story and even check out some of Dana’s other books to get you in the perfect spooky mood for this read.
An Excerpt From The Beast You Let In
By Dana Mele
THE TWISTED MIND OF VERONICA GREEN
January 1
i
I arrive in hell.
2
HAZEL
0 Hours
I don’t remember handing over my keys, but I do. I don’t remember asking for a Jell-O shot, but I do. And another, and another. I don’t remember joining the circle and spinning the sticky beer bottle, but I do. I do remember kissing Ezra again, on purpose this time. For a boy, he isn’t too objectionable. But I’m not interested in boys. I kissed Mel, twice, which was exciting, Julie once, which was new, and Phoebe Crane, a quiet girl in a stunning Victorian dress, which was intriguing, because Phoebe was another of Beth’s summer friends. When Beth began to shed the old ones like downy feathers, it wasn’t only Jack who flew into her life. There was Phoebe too, a weekend girl with deep brown skin, a quirky Victorian-era wardrobe, and hair always drawn into two trademark waist-length braids interwoven with silky ribbons. A girl with money, impeccable style, and a constant glare. No one knew much about her family except that her parents were divorced, and her father didn’t spend his weekends in Ashling anymore. There were rumors her dad made Marvel movies. I bet Beth got her dress from Phoebe.
I remember Phoebe pulling the game out of the velvety bag slung by her side. Mother forbade Beth and me to play as children because it was “the devil’s game.” I stared at the stiff beige board stamped with letters in an old-fashioned font and crowned with a yes and a no. A sun smiled sweetly from one corner, and the moon eyed it resentfully from the other. A carved wooden heart—the game piece, the magic—was placed in the center of the board. One by one, people’s fingertips drifted to its edges and their gaze fell on me.
This is the thing about me and people. I go blank. Words don’t come easily to me like they do for my sister. I don’t know what people want to hear.
“Ask her something,” Phoebe prompted.
“Ask who?” My words ran together a little, and so did the letters on the board. I knew it was time to go home, and I wouldn’t be driving tonight.
Ezra grinned. “Veronica.”
No, not Ezra. Ezra had left the circle. It was one of his friends, Mac or Randy or Jason.
I shook my head, drawing a blank.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Everyone and their knockoff sister knows some version of the Veronica story.”
Mel cradled her beer between her chin and her shoulder, her sky-blue hair falling into her eyes. “No. This story makes me sad.” She started to scoot away from the circle, her eyes on me, and I wondered whether this was a goodbye or an invitation to join her. But she didn’t say it. So how would I know?
Julie’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands, drawing my attention back. “Let me tell it. A girl died in these woods ages ago, before we were even born.”
The memory shook loose. A campfire story. A cautionary tale. It was as forbidden in our house as tarot cards and summoning games. Speak of the devil, and he will appear.
Then again, we weren’t in our house. And I was tired of being good. So I said the words. “Are you here, Veronica?”
The heart jerked beneath our fingertips, like it does in the movies.
Yes.
“Do you want to tell us something?”
Yes.
“Um. Go ahead.”
Whispers. Laughter. There was fog in my skull. I needed sleep, but I’d had a taste of being Beth, and I was drunk on that too.
The heart moved slowly now, uncertain of its course. A message, a puzzle, a clue spelled in fragments.
H
W
I
D
I
D
“Ho, what I did?” Mac exclaimed, erupting into giggles.
Amanda punched his arm with a smirk. “What didn’t you do?”
“How I died,” Phoebe corrected him sternly.
Again, the heart moved erratically, this time with no ambiguity.
B
A
N
G
B
A
N
G
I blacked out.
When I woke the next morning, unsure how I got home, the bed next to mine was empty and untouched. Artax gazed up at me from beneath it with worried eyes. Beth had never come home.
Maybe something should happen to her.
12 HOURS
It is disorienting to go to sleep hating your sister with every fiber of your being and wake up desperate to find her. But here we are.
I woke up knowing. There was an evil in my stomach, and I just knew. Not that Beth had disappeared; I don’t claim to be psychic. But that something was terribly, terribly wrong. We share a bedroom, and I could see through the late morning light filtering through our gauzy yellow curtains that Beth wasn’t there. Her comforter lay undisturbed on her bed, smooth as ice on a frigid lake.
A chill swept over me, and all my anger evaporated. Beth may be rebellious, but she always comes home.
I could hear my mother down the hall, her slow, unbothered footsteps creaking across the old hardwood floors. Going about her day like nothing was wrong. Our house is ancient, and the rooms are small, but everything is wood, and it creaks and sighs with every movement. My father would be out hunting with his crew, a small, tight-knit group that includes Ezra’s dad as well as Julie’s. My parents wouldn’t notice Beth was gone.
Why would they? They don’t watch us sleep.
One text message, from Mel Sanders.
Had fun! Talk later?
Any other day, I would have been so freaked out over a text like that. In a good way—because I don’t get texts from crushes. I definitely don’t get texts from crushes the night after kissing them at a party. But I was confused by the fact she left early and maybe didn’t approve of me staying and playing that game. And right now, the only thing that mattered was that it wasn’t a text from Beth that she was okay. The timing felt deliberately cruel. I shoved my phone into my pocket without responding.
My body felt stiff as I forced myself to stand and pull on a sweatshirt. I resisted the walk down the hall, where I could hear my mother in the kitchen. I checked my phone again. Nothing. And then I had to face her.
“Good morning, Hazel,” she said pleasantly, pointing to a stack of pancakes with her coffee mug. An apology for last night. Comfort food is my mother’s love language. “Did you dance all night?”
I stood, stuck in place, Artax planted firmly between my ankles, a soft whine wafting from his throat. “Have you heard from Beth?”
She looked up from her coffee and magazine, and the expression on her face said what was coming next would be hell.
13 HOURS
I was told to stay home, but I’m not sure I know how to do that right now. So, I find myself in the police station, sitting next to my parents and across from Chief Merritt, an old friend of my father’s, who’s double-tasking filling out paperwork and issuing what sound like empty reassurances. I focus my attention on my phone, googling doomsday statistics.
Crucial fact #1: 90% of missing minors are runaways.
Except Beth ran off in the middle of a party. She wasn’t even wearing a jacket.
Crucial fact #2: Most abductions of minors are by relatives.
All of our relatives are in this room, minus our Uncle Paul who is currently in Hanoi on his honeymoon.
Crucial fact #3: In the very small percentage of cases when a minor is kidnapped by a violent offender, 74% of the time the minor dies within three hours.
It’s been thirteen.
I sip the watery hot chocolate from the Styrofoam cup that was handed to me without being asked if I wanted any. It burns my tongue. I can feel the singed taste buds, rough and useless against the back of my teeth. The feeling is comforting, somehow. All of this is partly my fault.
“Hazel?”
I whip up my head. “Yes?”
“You say Beth was fighting with a boy before she ran out into the woods?”
My parents turn their attention to me.
“I didn’t see her run into the woods,” I clarify, uncomfortable with this scrutiny. If I make a mistake, remember one detail wrong, or say something too vague, it could send a search party in the wrong direction and cost precious time. “She went out the backdoor toward the woods behind the Elwoods’. And yes, she was fighting with…two boys, actually. Ezra Elwood and Jack Sawyer.”
Chief Merritt furrows his brow and scribbles a note. “I’ll call in the Sawyer boy.”
“And the Elwood boy.” I shut myself up with another sip of burning chocolate water. Golden boy Ezra and his glittering, golden family. Why would the police question him when there’s an outsider like Jack Sawyer to zero in on instead?
Merritt raises his gaze to meet my father’s. This is how you raise your daughter, Owen? he says with the arch of his eyebrows. “I’ll have a chat with the Elwoods.”
“So you will speak to Ezra?”
He casts me a withering glare. But I didn’t ask him to chat with the Elwoods. I asked him to speak to Ezra Elwood. Saying he’ll speak to the Elwoods leaves room for him to have a pleasant passing word with Reverend Elwood, his drinking buddy, with no intention of considering Ezra as a suspect. He’s humoring me.
“Hazel,” my father says sharply.
I avoid his eyes. I need to know all the leads are being followed. That Beth is not going to become another tragic unsolved case because the chief of police gives his buddies special treatment. I need to hear him say he will bring Ezra in for questioning.
“Excuse us.” My mother takes my arm and pulls me out into the hallway. “Hazel. You can’t talk that way. It’s disrespectful.”
“He’s making a mistake, Mom. Do you think the Elwoods are above the law?”
She presses her lips together so tightly, they turn white, and a wave of guilt washes over me. I only meant to play on her feud with Mrs. Elwood, not plant thoughts of the worst-case scenario in her head. “No one said anyone is above the law. But you will get yourself in trouble if you speak out of turn like that, and that’s the last thing we need.”
I disagree. I think the last thing we need is a corrupt, biased cop. But I nod, because as much as having your sister disappear is a nightmare, I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to losing a child.
Mom leads me back into Merritt’s office and clears her throat, nodding at me meaningfully.
“Sorry,” I say curtly.
“I’ll speak to the Elwoods,” Merritt repeats, without glancing up from his files.
I’m sure it’s meant to be a magnanimous gesture to show my parents that in exchange for my apology, he can be reasonable. But all he’s done is repeat his shitty ambiguous nonresponse. I hate when people speak ambiguously. I can never tell if it’s on purpose or not, and it eats at me. No one else ever seems to see those ambiguities. My parents sure don’t. It makes it hard to have a pleasant conversation in the best of circumstances, and this is arguably the worst. I need to know the truth, including whether someone is really sure when they say “sure” or if they’re only speaking colloquially. Or trying to shut me up.
“Is there anything else you need from me?” I ask.
Chief Merritt looks over his notes, then finally makes eye contact. “Not for now.”
Mom squeezes my hand. “Go home. Get some rest.”
Dad nods, worry etched across his face. I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s beating himself up for fighting with Beth, for the last thing he said before she walked out the door. That must be haunting him. It ought to be. It haunts me.
Maybe something should happen to her.
I hesitate, wondering if I should mention it to the police to give the full picture. Except this isn’t a gritty true crime drama, and even though Dad has a temper, so does Beth. They’re cut from the same cloth. And anyway, he said it about me, not her.
“Remember something?” Chief Merritt looks at me expectantly and I realize my mouth is hanging open.
I swallow the words. It’s family stuff. Merritt doesn’t need to know. “My place.”
“Girl’s got a mouth,” he says before I close the door behind me.
Girl’s pissed off. And if the police won’t question Ezra, Girl will.
14 HOURS
The house looks like the wreckage of a party. Empty bottles, plastic cups, and crumpled paper plates are everywhere. I press my face to the window beside the front door and knock loudly, then push the doorbell repeatedly. A shadowy figure eventually makes its way down the spiral staircase, moving with the speed and precision of a sleepwalker.
Ezra opens the door wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and squints at me through half-open eyes. He clearly just rolled out of bed. “Party was last night, Chip.”
He certainly seems to know which twin I am now. Chip was my nickname in second grade after I fell off the swings attempting a 360 and chipped my front tooth.
I touch my permanent filling with my tongue. “Can I come in for a second?”
He glances at the toxic wreck behind him. “Sure you want to?”
“I am sure.” And when I say it, I mean it.
“Sorry about the mess. My parents are off at some wedding weekend in Miami.”
“And the maid is off,” I say sarcastically.
“Exactly.”
I can’t tell if he’s kidding. He leads me into the living room and selects a glass from the bar. It has a delicate etching of a honeybee on it, and I glance at the beehive sculpture I noticed last night.
Ezra follows my gaze. “My mom. She’s, like, obsessed.” He pours himself a glass of orange juice. “Ever had Lillabee Honey?”
“Who hasn’t?” Mrs. Elwood’s honey regularly earns honors at the county fair, and she’s built the brand into an extremely successful business. The decor still feels a bit much, though. Like living in an advertisement.
“I can’t stand it.” Ezra adds a splash of vodka to his glass and offers it to me.
I look at it with distaste. “This is how you live?”
He appears offended. “It’s a hangover cure. Look it up.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I wanted to ask about last night.”
He pushes his thick hair back from his face. “Look, I’m sorry about that. I thought you were Beth.”
“During spin the bottle as well?”
He blushes. “It’s a game, man.”
“I’m not a man. I know it’s a game. And I’m not a weirdo. I meant I wanted to talk about Beth.”
His face disappears into his glass. “No.”
I gape at him. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean ‘none of your business.’ Sorry. Beth wouldn’t want me talking, either.”
For a second, we stare each other down, and I wonder if she did run away and tell Ezra her plans.
“It’s complicated,” he adds, blushing again. “I don’t really know what’s going on with Beth. Unless you do?”
“I’m sorry, do you know where she is?”
The confusion on his face answers my question. My heart sinks into my stomach. He thinks I’ve been asking about their relationship.
“Should I?” he asks.
I take his glass and place it on the bar.
“Beth is missing.”
My voice is way too calm. I’m hyperaware of how unnerving I sound, but it’s the only way I can get out the words. Any words at all, really. “She was last seen leaving your party. Right after you fought.”
His face drains of color.
“From what I gather, she fought with you and Jack, left, and ran into the woods. No one has seen or heard from her since. I think that makes you a suspect.”
“Suspect?” he echoes, looking nauseous.
“I was there when the police report was filed.” He doesn’t need to know what the police actually said.
“What about Jack? Why isn’t he a suspect?”
“Who says you both aren’t?”
Ezra jumps up, grabs a bubblegum-pink puffy jacket someone left draped on a lampshade and throws it on, then strides to the foyer, snatching his keys from a basket beside the door. “Come on.”
I imagine the way he sees himself: a badass, a take-no-prisoners detective, a rebel beholden to no one. The jacket falls about an inch above his wrist and waist, and staring at me with bedhead and bloodshot eyes, he looks like a party boy freshly out of coke.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Jack fucking Sawyer.”
Excerpted from The Beast You Let In by Dana Mele, Copyright © 2026 by Dana Mele. Published by Sourcebooks Fire.
The Beast You Let In, by Dana Mele will be released on April 7, 2026 from Sourcebooks Fire. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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