From the critically acclaimed transmedia project Poet Anderson: The Dream Walker, comes one of the most anticipated collaborations in YA literature this year: a thrilling, edge of your seat story written by award-winning musician, producer and director Tom DeLonge and New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Young. Poet Anderson...Of Nightmares follows the epic journey of two orphan brothers, Jonas and Alan, who are Lucid Dreamers. After a tragic car accident lands Alan in a coma, Jonas sets out into the Dream World in an attempt to find his brother and wake him up. What he discovers instead is an entire shared consciousness where fear comes to life as a snarling beast called a Night Terror, and a creature named REM is bent on destruction and misery, devouring the souls of the strongest dreamers to get closer to the Waking World. With the help of a Dream Walker—a guardian of the dreamscape, Jonas must face his fears, save his brother, and become who he was always meant to be: Poet Anderson.
Excerpt:
Excerpt from Chapter 22 by Tom DeLonge and Suzanne Young
Flint took a step toward Poet, his boots echoing on the pavement. “Do you think REM cares how nice someone is?” he asked. “Are you really so stupid?” “Flint,” Jarabec said in warning. Flint held up his hand to Jarabec, but kept his gaze trained on Poet. “How did you get here tonight, kid?” Flint demanded. “How do we know you didn’t make a deal with that bastard? Wouldn’t be the first time someone turned on us.” Jarabec jumped forward and pushed Flint, stepping between him and the boy. But Poet waved him off. He wasn’t scared of Flint. “I can’t wake myself up,” Poet told him. “I can’t tunnel into the Waking World. REM injected me with a sedative and sent me here. Said my Night Terror wouldn’t be far
behind.” At the mention of the Night Terror, both Jarabec and Flint tensed. Jarabec grabbed Poet by the arm and pulled him toward the sidewalk where the cycles were
parked. “Christ,” Jarabec grumbled. “Find the proprietor,” he told Flint, who was already running for his bike. “Get the location and report back to me.” Flint nodded, and after he climbed on his motorcycle, he looked over at Poet, his expression more thoughtful than he’d seen before. “Take care of yourself, kid,” he said. Poet was so taken aback by the sentiment
that he didn’t respond. Flint revved his engine and spun his bike around before rocketing down the street. Jarabec waited impatiently on his monocycle. Poet stashed his umbrella in the back, and as he rounded the cycle, he noticed new scratches that hadn’t been there before. Blackened scrapes and dented metal. “I see you’ve been busy,” Poet said. “You shouldn’t have come here,” Jarabec said. Poet scoffed. “Uh, I didn’t choose to. Sedative, remember?” “I mean the other night. You shouldn’t have raced. Shouldn’t have gotten involved. The Dream Walkers don’t have your best interests at heart.” “Are you saying they want to hurt me?” “No. But they will use you.” Jarabec shot a cautious glance down the street, as if worried the Night Terror would show up at any moment. “They needed to know what REM had over you, and what he would use to break you. That was what they bargained for: information about you. Not information to help you.” Poet looked down the street where Flint had just left. “I don’t understand,” he asked. “Why?” “REM is going to offer you a deal. They may decide to not let you have the chance to take it. That’s why I didn’t want the Dream Walkers to know about your brother. But now they do.” “I’m not going to make a trade,” Poet said. “I’m going to kill REM.” “Yes,” Jarabec said, looking over at him like he was a delusional child. “Other Poets have thought the same. They’ve trusted the wrong people.” Poet knew he was talking about Alexander. “And now,” Jarabec continued, “you’ve involved the girl, too.” Poet’s shoulders tensed. “What are you talking about?” “You’ve fallen in love with her, yes?” he asked in an accusing tone. “Which, for all intents and purposes, is the surest way to get her killed.” “No,” Poet said, shaking his head. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I told her not to come here.” “You still don’t understand, do you?” Jarabec said. “REM will destroy everything you love. Try and coax you to give him your soul willingly. He will ask you to give your life for hers. But you cannot trust him. In the end, he will destroy her. He’ll destroy Alan. REM will take everything from you, just like he took your parents.” “I would never willingly give him my soul, so he’s mistaken,” Poet said defiantly. “I can protect them.” “Yes, Poet,” Jarabec said, turning away and kicking his cycle to life. “You are, indeed, just like your mother. But you’ll learn. One way or another, you’ll learn just how terrible REM can be.” Poet watched the back of Jarabec’s head, sensing the emotions causing his warning. “And what did he take from you?” Poet asked. Jarabec didn’t flinch. Instead he revved the engine. “My wife,” he said. Poet’s lips parted in an apology, but the Dream Walker didn’t turn. Although Poet had only known Jarabec for a short while, he admired him. Respected him. “How did...” Poet trailed off, knowing it was rude to ask how she died. Jarabec stared down the empty street, as if lost in a thought. “My wife wasn’t a Dream Walker,” Jarabec said. “She was unaccustomed to the type of pain REM could inflict. We were young and foolish. The Night Stalkers found Magdalena in a shop here, in the Dark End of Genesis. They dragged her out into the streets.” Jarabec turned back, his jaw tight as the color drained from his face. “They played her murder over and over on the telescreens.” He pointed up to the blank jumbo screen attached to the side of a building. “It was a warning for any who defied REM. But if he’d hoped it would bring me toward him, it only changed my mission.” “I’m sorry,” Poet said, knowing it wasn’t enough. “I was the strongest of the Dream Walkers then,” Jarabec continued. “But after Magdalena’s death, I decided that I wouldn’t just protect the dreamscape from the Night Stalkers, I would ultimately bring about REM’s destruction. I would devote my life to do it. I knew I had to find a Poet, with a soul brighter than any Dream Walker’s. A capacity for light that REM would not be able to defeat.” “I don’t understand,” Poet said. “Why am I so important if there are other Poets?” “Because you’re the only Poet here,” he said. “Perhaps it’s because you don’t understand the real danger you’re in. Perhaps you’re braver than they were. Now all the Poets are either dead or scattered, hidden in the wind. Out of our reach. Out of REM’s. One day, you’ll understand. You will have a choice whether or not to join them in that course, Poet Anderson. But today is not that day.” Jarabec scanned the boy with his gray eyes. “Now,” he said. “We must go. If REM sent you into the dream, I imagine he’s already figured out your location.” Above them, the colors of the skyline changed, casting dark shadows on the street. Poet looked up and found the telescreen streaming their image, fifty feet high. Jarabec cursed under his breath and Poet quickly climbed on the monocycle. They’d found him. Jarabec twisted the throttle, lifting his black boots from the pavement as the monocycle shot forward, nearly knocking Poet off the back. People began to walk out of the closed shops, glancing up at the telescreens, murmuring their excitement. For a moment, Poet hated them. This was a sport to them, just like the Death Races. “You’d better get ready, boy,” Jarabec called over the roar of his cycle. “Every one of the people in this part of town would pay good money to watch you get torn apart by your Night Terror.”
Flint took a step toward Poet, his boots echoing on the pavement. “Do you think REM cares how nice someone is?” he asked. “Are you really so stupid?” “Flint,” Jarabec said in warning. Flint held up his hand to Jarabec, but kept his gaze trained on Poet. “How did you get here tonight, kid?” Flint demanded. “How do we know you didn’t make a deal with that bastard? Wouldn’t be the first time someone turned on us.” Jarabec jumped forward and pushed Flint, stepping between him and the boy. But Poet waved him off. He wasn’t scared of Flint. “I can’t wake myself up,” Poet told him. “I can’t tunnel into the Waking World. REM injected me with a sedative and sent me here. Said my Night Terror wouldn’t be far
behind.” At the mention of the Night Terror, both Jarabec and Flint tensed. Jarabec grabbed Poet by the arm and pulled him toward the sidewalk where the cycles were
parked. “Christ,” Jarabec grumbled. “Find the proprietor,” he told Flint, who was already running for his bike. “Get the location and report back to me.” Flint nodded, and after he climbed on his motorcycle, he looked over at Poet, his expression more thoughtful than he’d seen before. “Take care of yourself, kid,” he said. Poet was so taken aback by the sentiment
that he didn’t respond. Flint revved his engine and spun his bike around before rocketing down the street. Jarabec waited impatiently on his monocycle. Poet stashed his umbrella in the back, and as he rounded the cycle, he noticed new scratches that hadn’t been there before. Blackened scrapes and dented metal. “I see you’ve been busy,” Poet said. “You shouldn’t have come here,” Jarabec said. Poet scoffed. “Uh, I didn’t choose to. Sedative, remember?” “I mean the other night. You shouldn’t have raced. Shouldn’t have gotten involved. The Dream Walkers don’t have your best interests at heart.” “Are you saying they want to hurt me?” “No. But they will use you.” Jarabec shot a cautious glance down the street, as if worried the Night Terror would show up at any moment. “They needed to know what REM had over you, and what he would use to break you. That was what they bargained for: information about you. Not information to help you.” Poet looked down the street where Flint had just left. “I don’t understand,” he asked. “Why?” “REM is going to offer you a deal. They may decide to not let you have the chance to take it. That’s why I didn’t want the Dream Walkers to know about your brother. But now they do.” “I’m not going to make a trade,” Poet said. “I’m going to kill REM.” “Yes,” Jarabec said, looking over at him like he was a delusional child. “Other Poets have thought the same. They’ve trusted the wrong people.” Poet knew he was talking about Alexander. “And now,” Jarabec continued, “you’ve involved the girl, too.” Poet’s shoulders tensed. “What are you talking about?” “You’ve fallen in love with her, yes?” he asked in an accusing tone. “Which, for all intents and purposes, is the surest way to get her killed.” “No,” Poet said, shaking his head. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I told her not to come here.” “You still don’t understand, do you?” Jarabec said. “REM will destroy everything you love. Try and coax you to give him your soul willingly. He will ask you to give your life for hers. But you cannot trust him. In the end, he will destroy her. He’ll destroy Alan. REM will take everything from you, just like he took your parents.” “I would never willingly give him my soul, so he’s mistaken,” Poet said defiantly. “I can protect them.” “Yes, Poet,” Jarabec said, turning away and kicking his cycle to life. “You are, indeed, just like your mother. But you’ll learn. One way or another, you’ll learn just how terrible REM can be.” Poet watched the back of Jarabec’s head, sensing the emotions causing his warning. “And what did he take from you?” Poet asked. Jarabec didn’t flinch. Instead he revved the engine. “My wife,” he said. Poet’s lips parted in an apology, but the Dream Walker didn’t turn. Although Poet had only known Jarabec for a short while, he admired him. Respected him. “How did...” Poet trailed off, knowing it was rude to ask how she died. Jarabec stared down the empty street, as if lost in a thought. “My wife wasn’t a Dream Walker,” Jarabec said. “She was unaccustomed to the type of pain REM could inflict. We were young and foolish. The Night Stalkers found Magdalena in a shop here, in the Dark End of Genesis. They dragged her out into the streets.” Jarabec turned back, his jaw tight as the color drained from his face. “They played her murder over and over on the telescreens.” He pointed up to the blank jumbo screen attached to the side of a building. “It was a warning for any who defied REM. But if he’d hoped it would bring me toward him, it only changed my mission.” “I’m sorry,” Poet said, knowing it wasn’t enough. “I was the strongest of the Dream Walkers then,” Jarabec continued. “But after Magdalena’s death, I decided that I wouldn’t just protect the dreamscape from the Night Stalkers, I would ultimately bring about REM’s destruction. I would devote my life to do it. I knew I had to find a Poet, with a soul brighter than any Dream Walker’s. A capacity for light that REM would not be able to defeat.” “I don’t understand,” Poet said. “Why am I so important if there are other Poets?” “Because you’re the only Poet here,” he said. “Perhaps it’s because you don’t understand the real danger you’re in. Perhaps you’re braver than they were. Now all the Poets are either dead or scattered, hidden in the wind. Out of our reach. Out of REM’s. One day, you’ll understand. You will have a choice whether or not to join them in that course, Poet Anderson. But today is not that day.” Jarabec scanned the boy with his gray eyes. “Now,” he said. “We must go. If REM sent you into the dream, I imagine he’s already figured out your location.” Above them, the colors of the skyline changed, casting dark shadows on the street. Poet looked up and found the telescreen streaming their image, fifty feet high. Jarabec cursed under his breath and Poet quickly climbed on the monocycle. They’d found him. Jarabec twisted the throttle, lifting his black boots from the pavement as the monocycle shot forward, nearly knocking Poet off the back. People began to walk out of the closed shops, glancing up at the telescreens, murmuring their excitement. For a moment, Poet hated them. This was a sport to them, just like the Death Races. “You’d better get ready, boy,” Jarabec called over the roar of his cycle. “Every one of the people in this part of town would pay good money to watch you get torn apart by your Night Terror.”
Suzanne Young is the New York Times bestselling author of The Program, The Treatment, and several other novels. She currently lives in Tempe, Arizona where she teaches high school English and obsesses about books. Learn more about Suzanne at www.suzanne-young.blogspot.com
Tom DeLonge is an award-winning American musician, producer and director best known as the lead vocalist, guitarist and songwriter for the platinum selling rock bands Blink-182 and Angels & Airwaves. His home is San Diego, where he focuses on creating entertainment properties that bridge music, narrative and film through his multimedia company To The Stars. For the full experience of Tom’s work, visit www.tothestars.media.
Thank you so much for hosting a tour stop!
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