Copyright Variety
“The Cabin at the End of the World and “Horror Movie” author is back with another dark vision — and this time it’s tech-focused. “Dead But Dreaming of Electric Sheep” was just announced as the upcoming novel from horror writer Paul Tremblay, and is set to be on sale June 30, 2026 from William Morrow. Here is the novel’s wild premise, per the press release: “Meet Julia Flang, a twenty-something former semi-professional gamer, living with her retired uncle, and working two jobs she doesn’t like. Out of the blue, her estranged mother, a CFO for one of the world’s largest tech companies, offers her a temp job with a payday Julia can’t refuse. One sham interview later, she’s offered the job: to chaperone a man in a vegetative state—one with proprietary AI implanted in his head—from California to the East Coast. “To sum up in Julia’s own words: ‘You want me to remote control this dead dude across the country.’ In a word, yes. But he’s not dead dead. “Meet a middle-aged man who wakes within a disorienting hellscape filled with monstrous grotesqueries. Worse than the fluid, morphing reality in which he’s trapped, he has no memory of who he is. He certainly doesn’t remember getting the rabbit tattoo on his arm. He only knows that he must find a certain person. Who? He can’t remember. “Using a cell phone modeled after a video game controller, Julia fumblingly navigates the man she calls “Bernie’ from the company campus and onto planes and through one of the largest airports in America. All the while, the man endures an ever-changing and worsening nightmare that offers clues as to who he was—and who he must track down. And as their two lives intertwine, Julia and Bernie become unlikely allies and fugitives on a collision course with reality.” “Dead But Dreaming of Electric Sheep” is now available for preorder. The novel’s first excerpt is below. “So, you know when you use jumpers to start your car, your car isn’t fixed. You don’t just start driving around and go on with your day. You jump start the car so that it can travel a relatively short distance to where it can be fixed.” “So, we’re trying to fix him.” “No, we’re not.” “And didn’t you say you were transporting him to the east coast? That’s hardly a short distance.” “I acknowledge the metaphor falls apart at the end, which is a shame. Anyway, the implanted tech will enable and facilitate electric communication between the man’s remaining healthy brain cells. Again, the man will not be conscious or aware of any of this. The man is gone. There is no him left of him. Only the machine of his body. And the tech allows a remote user—” Brady points at Julia and her insides turns to liquid “—to regulate and control his large muscle groups.” Brady smiles, chuckles softly to himself, and relaxes his posture. “We have achieved context.” “Wait. No, we haven’t.” Julia stands and paces the length of the stale bagel couch, places both hands atop her head. She’s both excited and absolutely terrified, and she wants to laugh a manic, we-are-fucking-doomed kind of laugh. “I get it. But. What?” Brady says, “With the tech, we can get his body—a body, remember, no longer a him—to move, to wave an arm, to walk and turn and stop and sit via a digital command panel, an interface no more complex than a video game controller or a smart phone app. Given your gaming prowess—and assuming you pass a virtual run-through we have set up for you—we are asking you to pilot this the man safely across the country in accordance with his wishes and permissions, and—” he turns, pantomimes that a secret is forthcoming by placing a hand on one side of his mouth while talking out of the other “—as the tech’s maiden voyage and proof-of-concept for our investors who very much want us to be first with this technology.” Julia continues pacing the length of the bagel couch as though her own body is moving at the behest of another mind. She knows the answer to her next question but she asks it anyway. “How remote can the remote user be?” “In terms of distance, the user needs to be within thirty feet of our man to ensure the wireless connection remains uninterrupted.” “You want me to remote control this dead dude across the country.” “Technically, as you pointed out, he’s not dead. Yet. But in a word, yes.” “Like a more fucked-up version of the movie Weekend at Bernie’s.” “I don’t know that movie.” “Seriously? Two, young insurance bros present evidence of fraud to the big boss—Bernie—and he invites them to his beach house that weekend as, like, a reward. Bernie really invites them over to have them killed because he’s the one behind the whole fraud scheme. Then, the mob kills Bernie with an injection of heroin before the insurance bros show up. When the bros find his dead body, they decide to pretend Bernie is still alive, mainly by putting sunglasses on Bernie’s face, but also, they drag Bernie around the beach and town, their arms and legs tied together so when they move Bernie moves, yeah? They throw a big party at his house, and things get so weird and wacky and, um—” Here, Julia stammers for the right word while sinking toward sitting on the couch and while also sinking toward feeling ridiculous because of her compulsion to compare real life to films, usually older films no one in the vicinity of her age bracket has seen. “—and icky. Definitely icky. I mean, it’s a classic movie. Not really a classic classic, but you should be culturally aware of it.” Brady nods, narrows his eyes, deeply considering the plot of the 1989 farce. “I did see Swiss Army Man,” he says. “It wasn’t my cup of tea. Speaking of hot brewed beverages, how about we go downstairs to the café for your coffee and then we’ll go on over to R and D for the virtual test and training. I thought this interview went swimmingly.” “Did you in fact interview me?” “Our interview process isn’t a static question and answer session and is more like an ongoing, living, breathing process.” Brady says. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but I’m sending along my highest marks and recommendations. Frankly, I wish I’d known about Weekend at Bernie’s and gone with that as the lead comparison instead of the jumper cable metaphor.” Brady claps a hand against his lap and stands ups, slowly, wincing at the knee that clearly still bothers him. Julia distends her cheeks with air then smooshes it all out with her hands. “Hold on. I haven’t said yes to anything yet. Well, other than coffee and maybe a breakfast sandwich. I say yes to that. But I also want to know more about the tech itself and how it works, and the interface, and like why? What’s the point of it? And holy shit, by what mode of transportation would I be getting Bernie across the country?” “Bernie?” “Well, yeah. That’s what I’m calling him for now.” “First, I acknowledge you haven’t said yes to anything yet. You can say no at any time. We are not the armed forces. You haven’t been conscripted. Second, one of the engineers who is going to run you through the paces,” Brady pantomimes running, “will be better able to answer those bigger questions for you. Okay?” “One last smaller question, then.” “Fire away,” he says, and yes, he shoots a hand pistol at her. “How much did the company pay her?” “Pay who?” “Bernie’s mom.” “Oh, I have no idea. But I bet it was a shit ton.”
