The Dream Killer follows a man who is horrified to discover the body of a missing child prodigy in his basement. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?

The Dream Killer came straight out of a recurring nightmare I’ve had for years—decades, actually. The first time I had it was in the early ‘90s when the JonBenét Ramsey case was all over the news. I was about ten, so I didn’t really understand what had happened, just that a little girl had been found dead in a basement and that nobody knew who did it. I guess my brain took that fragment of information and processed it into a nightmare.

In my dream, I found JonBenét’s body, and somehow, I knew I was the one who killed her… but I had no memory of doing it. My parents knew too, and they helped me cover it up—hiding the body, making sure no one found out. But the police were onto me, questioning me, circling closer. The overwhelming feeling was this deep, gnawing dread. I was free… but not really. It was just a matter of time before the other shoe dropped before I was exposed and my whole life was over.

And this nightmare kept coming back. It wasn’t always JonBenét (I’m not a total psychopath), but the core of it was the same: I’d find a body, I’d know I was responsible, and the dream was all about covering it up, not getting caught, and feeling the crushing guilt of having done something unspeakable. I’d wake up from these dreams still carrying that feeling—sometimes it would take me ten, twenty minutes to shake it off and realize, Oh. Right. I didn’t actually kill anyone.

Then, a couple of years ago, I had the nightmare again… but this time, it didn’t stop. It evolved. It played out past the usual cycle of guilt and cover-up, into an Act 2 and an Act 3. And in this “sequel nightmare,” I finally got answers: Who am I? Who is the girl? Why was she killed? What does it all mean? I woke up from that version of the dream so excited because I love movies and books that feel like nightmares stuff like War of the Worlds (Spielberg’s version), Eraserhead, The Trial, The Metamorphosis. I’d always wanted to write something that captured that kind of dream-logic terror, but whenever I tried to force it, it never entirely worked. It always felt like… trying too hard.

But with The Dream Killer, I didn’t have to force anything. I’d say 80% of it is the nightmare. I just translated it into a novel. It’s pure id, ego, and superego—raw and unfiltered. And I finally managed to create something that feels like nightmare fuel… because it is nightmare fuel. It comes straight from that part of me.

Which of your characters is most similar to you or to people you know?

Ethan is kind of a cipher for the everyman—he’s technically me, in the sense that he’s the dreamer who finds the body. He spends the story constantly bewildered by the shifting, surreal world around him, which is exactly how I felt in those nightmares.

Sophia Labelle, on the other hand, is this rebellious, film-school-dropout-turned-director—a sort of splatterpunk filmmaker. She came from this idea I had back when I was in film school. I used to always say, “Where’s the female Tarantino? I bet if there was one, people would lose their minds over her movies.” And this was before Julia Ducournau and Coralie Fargeat came onto the scene, so Sophia is kind of my imagined version of that—a cocky, fearless filmmaker who makes these ultra-violent, no-holds-barred films. She doesn’t compromise, and she doesn’t care who she offends.

Was there a risk you felt you took in this book? With your characters or with the plot?

The biggest risk I took with this book was trusting that readers would connect with its subconscious, dreamlike logic. It operates on nightmare rules—things don’t always make immediate sense, but instead of holding the reader’s hand, the story asks them to just feel what Ethan is going through.

I really believe that if you go along with that experience, everything clicks into place by the end. There are plenty of clues dropped throughout, and if you’re paying attention, you’ll start to piece together what’s really happening. What I’m most proud of is that early readers have embraced that challenge. Instead of needing everything spelled out, they’ve leaned into the mystery, becoming detectives in their own right. And hopefully, by the time they reach the twist, it feels like this mind-blowing, cathartic moment that makes it all worth it.

Can we look forward to more books from you soon? What do you currently have in the works?

Right now, I’m working on a book called The End, which follows a man trying to make sense of his girlfriend’s suicide. It explores themes of the afterlife, and I’ve got it fully outlined—but there are still some missing pieces that I need to make it as strong as it can be.

Right now, I’m letting the idea marinate. I know it’s close, but I’m waiting for that spark of inspiration to bring everything together—especially in a way that truly cements it as a horror novel. That’s the missing piece. So for now, I’m just living with the idea, letting it evolve in the back of my mind until writing it feels inevitable.

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