Anyone who enjoys YA dark fantasy needs this book in their life! #yabooks #fantasy

Fractured Realities: Notnicknamethankyouverymuch's (Dax Candeland) Quest.

  Dear Reader

My name is Dax ‘nonicknamethankyouverymuch’ Candeland. I suppose I must have been born sixteen years ago, which means sometime during 1994 from my perspective, in a poor neighbourhood in the northwest of England.

 With an intense phobia of contractions, an obsession with numbers, and a mind that appears to be fracturing, I face a journey through my own fears and memories to find my missing father. There is no time to worry about getting older. The worry to not to get older. You see, I must solve the mystery soon or I will die for real.

 Let me explain, in the present tense, which is how I prefer to think, how the mystery started. The mystery is only slightly less complicated than the particle accelerator project my annoying sister, Chinwe, is not so secretly working on.

 So, there I am, navigating another difficult day at school, where no one shows me enough consideration for my dislike of contractions or my obsession with numbers.

 One thought sustains me: it is my sixteenth birthday, and I plan to celebrate it with my father. Alone, the two of us enjoy a meal and a special understanding–until I visit the bathroom, where the sinister clown from a poster comes alive, making me both fear and doubt reality.

 Back outside, the world has changed beyond recognition, and my father has gone. So begins my quest to find my father and learn why he vanished in the first place. In this new world, I meet gargoyles, monsters, witches and giants–but why do they bear a strange resemblance to the people in my life?

 My tendency to overthink and obsession with details become my greatest advantage as I am forced to solve riddle after riddle to advance my search. Yet the closer I get to solving the mystery, the more dangerous the creatures in this new world become.

 All I know is that I must find my father quickly–before the search kills me for real. Come to think of it, I should really stop this interview and continue with my quest.

 Unfortunately, as figment-Chinwe warns me, I shall have to discover my darkest secret. Maybe that is why I am procrastinating by participating in this interview.

 However, you will have to find out my darkest secret with me, if you are brave enough. The quest is getting too dark to do this on my own. 

Dax

DAX

book one of the Dax trilogy

When his father disappears, Dax faces every living nightmare to find him.

Dax Candeland is navigating another difficult day at school, where no one shows enough consideration for his dislike of contractions or his obsession with numbers. One thought sustains him: it's his sixteenth birthday, and he will celebrate it with his father.

Alone, the two of them enjoy their meal and a special understanding–until Dax visits the bathroom, where the sinister clown from a poster comes alive, making him both fear and doubt reality.

Back outside, the world has changed beyond recognition, and his father has gone. So begins Dax's quest to find his father and learn why he vanished in the first place.

In this new world, Dax meets gargoyles, monsters, witches and giants–but why do they bear a strange resemblance to the people in his life? His tendency to overthink and obsession with details become his greatest advantage as he is forced to solve riddle after riddle to advance his search.

Yet the closer he gets to solving the mystery, the more dangerous the creatures in this new world become. All Dax knows is that he must find his father quickly–before the search kills him for real.

Purchase link | Author Website 

A snippet to whet your appetite:

Dad and I step into the restaurant. Eighteen customers are tucking into eggs Benedict, hash
browns, and pancakes with syrup. I scratch my ear, pondering the significance of the
number eighteen.

A grin twists Dad’s thin face as he looks around the room. ‘D’you think––sorry. Do you think ten will always be your favourite number? Ten past ten is a funny time to have lunch.’

‘It is early for lunch, but ten suggests a strong bond. The first double-digit number.
Togetherness and unity. And the zero is a never-ending cycle. Does the universe have ten
dimensions? Space-time will tell.

Dad smiles, moulding the number ten with his fingers––his left hand forming the one, his
right curling into a circle––then squints with one eye through the zero. He lifts his makeshift monocle to the electronic menu board and smacks his lips.

‘Control yourself,’ I remind him. ‘You ate too much last year.’
‘We all have our issues, Dax. But yes, on this special occasion, I will rein in the gluttony.’
We order cheeseburgers, chips, and strawberry milkshakes.

Dad grabs six straws––two purple, two orange, and two brown. ‘One of each colour for both of us.’ We sit at table ten. Dad leans over its chrome rim. ‘Maybe it is an urban myth’, he whispers, ‘but I read there is not much milk in the shakes, or potato in the chips. It’s––it
is––an illusion.’

‘Maybe that is why I like it here. The food reminds me of my life. I am never sure how much of it is real.’

Dad stares at his wrapped burger. ‘And the simple colour scheme?’
‘Well, yes.’ I survey the room. Posters of a clown wearing purple and orange break up the
nut-brown walls. Violet plastic chairs surround glossy orange tables. Frowning, I bend my
three straws on the table to form three separate arches. ‘This is the only place where we
ever talk. You are different when Mum and Chinwe are around. You spend so much time
away from home. How many haunted lighthouses can there be to investigate?’

‘Sometimes you come along.’
We slip out of our jackets and unwrap our burgers. I remove the top half of my bun, place
ten chips on the meat, and squash down the bun.
‘Your mother and sister are buying you a present, but they need to go to the pharmacy first.’
Dad winks. ‘Guess what I bought you.’
I tap the visor of my grey baseball cap. ‘Clues?’
‘It popularises creatures with fangs who sleep in coffins.’

As I sink my teeth into my burger, fat dribbles out in globules. ‘So, is it a book? You know I hate vampire stories.’

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