Burning Bed Book Novels & Stories

The paper curled the moment it kissed the flame. Scarlet didn’t hesitate. She pressed the notebook harder into the candlelight, watching as the edges blackened, the ink blistering and fading into nothing. The words she’d bled onto those pages...plans, filth, fear, secrets...warped and vanished in a hiss. Ronan was still struggling with his shirt, fabric caught over his head like a damn blindfold. She tossed the burning book into the fireplace. And screamed.

I was alive! I turned around and took a look at the electronic clock on my bedside table. The time and date shown told me that only two hours had passed since I accepted the transmigration mission. On my desk was a tab. The screen lit up and showed the homepage of a story app. At the top of the homepage was a book. It was titled “The Return Of The Real Heiress: My Fiance Stole A Heart For Me.” I took a sip of water. As it slid down my throat, the dryness faded.

The force of gravity in the room seemed to suddenly increase, threatening to drag her to the floor. Get over it. You knew damn well this was going to happen. Just . . . move on. She looked over her shoulder to finally take in the rest of the space. Her father’s bed lay inside one of the corners, the mattress a size too small for a man of his height and covered with the same camo blanket that rested on her own. A large bookcase lined one wall, its contents a hodgepodge of classic and paranoid—“Survivalist,” Emma corrected herself—literature. She scanned the titles. Finding Tom Sawyer and The Anarchist’s Cookbook resting beside each other conjured demented scenes of the scamp lobbing improvise

If anyone walks in, I could pretend to be making the bed, I think to myself. Quietly I pad across the floor and lift the mattress of the bed. The book falls with a soft thud to the frame of the bed. Reaching under the bed I grasp the book in my hand and the symbols glow brightly as they change shapes into letters that I can read. 'Prophecies of the Fae.'

"I tried drying with iron, but I burned the pages." Who dries a book with an iron? Couldn't he borrow my hair dryer? "My book. Where is it?" "Wait here." He ducked into his room whilst I tried to control my anger. Alina, it was just a book. It didn't matter. You could buy another. You could read it again and paste the notes. But that was my book. Nobody messes with my book. He burnt my book. He murdered my book. He was a murderer. "Your book." I stared at the almost destroyed cover and opened to find dark brown iron marks and spilled coffee marks. "We will go to book shopping."

The sun was slowly raising in the sky, her eyelids were closing from sleep. Slowly the book slipped out of her outstretched hand, knocking down the lantern, making the oil spill on the floor before fire lit a small part of the rug. While the fire slowly started spreading, and the smoke slowly starting clouding the air, she fell more and more asleep.

I settle to read a book I ensured was waiting for me here. It's a long book, and one I left it until now to read so that, things being what they are, if I could not sleep, I'd have something to keep me occupied. Flipping to the first page, I sip my brandy. Then the second page. And I'm quickly hooked.... The flames flicker, warm and welcoming. The brandy is excellent. And I try hard not to think about what will happen tonight....

The next morning, I had the displeasure of the sun’s rays shining straight into my eyes. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. That stupid book kept me up. There was so much new information in there that I was hooked. Basic things that I never even thought about. I only had about a quarter left.

~CAMILLE~ When I returned to the room, my eyes caught a book on the stool beside the bed. It was the one I had been reading yesterday before the heat—A Wolf Before Title. He must have taken it with him yesterday, since I was clinging to it before he arrived. That was thoughtful of him. Since I had nowhere to go today, I decided to read until the day ended. Picking up the book, I settled onto the bed, lying on my side, and opened to the next page. I hadn’t even finished the first paragraph when a thud came at the door.

Her laughter at him was overflowing with callow mockery at his pain for several minutes before turning and leaving the room with the remains of his father’s favorite book. Several minutes later he heard her maniacal hackling from the back yard. From the aerial view on the second floor he watched, transfixed, as she poured lighter fluid over the pages before setting it alight. When the flames had completely engulfed the printed pages, Jaxsen collapsed and cried until he passed out.