Fever Dream Book Novels & Stories

Sweat plastered my hair to my temples, my face flushed crimson with heat. I tossed restlessly beneath the covers, small whimpers escaping my lips as fever dreams took hold. In my delirium, I called for Lily, reaching out for a daughter who was no longer there. A cool hand touched my forehead, bringing momentary relief from the burning heat. Instinctively, I leaned into the comforting coolness.

I interjected, "That fire seven years ago was brutal, wasn't it? Saving him must've been strenuous. Any scars?" She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faint mark on her arm. "Yeah, it left this. Not exactly pretty, but Damian means everything to me. I'd run through fire for him again in a heartbeat." I was stunned by her audacity. She'd go so far as to flaunt a fake scar to uphold her lie. "That blaze killed many people," I pressed. "You were just a middle-school kid, small and frail. How did you manage to drag him out of those flames?"

After the boys had left my room, I went through my bag and pulled out my favorite book, Night Flame, by Catherine Hart. I sat back in my chair by the window, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon reading when a shiver ran down my spine. I jumped out of my seat and spun around to see a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the corner of the room. As those eyes drew closer to me, I realized that it was Simon, the fae that came to warn me the other day.

“It must have been your fever that made you assume things that didn’t happen.” “Oh,” I said quietly. That’s true. Whenever I have a fever, I always see things. That also explained the dream I had. It was so weird to have a dream like that in my normal state of mind. It’s been a long time since the last time I read scary novels, too. Thinking about reading, I remembered my textbooks, and then… “School!” I blurted out. “Huh?” Mom looked at me. “I’m late for school!” I exclaimed and rushed to leave the bed.

(Dante’s Narration) The fever came like an ambush, no less vicious than bullets tearing through flesh. I drifted between waking and oblivion, my body sweating, my chest burning, and always — always — the knowledge that I was not alone. The room pulsed with it. Even when I shut my eyes, I felt him there, an anchor in the storm, breathing steady, stubbornly refusing to leave me. And in the fever, memory bled into dream. The street. The ambush.

’Please help me. Faye woke with a start as the sound of her cellphone ringing ended the vivid dream. It felt so real, as if she had really been there, on that beach as the woman burned. Even awake she could still feel the heat from the fire, smell the stench of the smoke and charred flesh. All her life these dreams had haunted her and all her life she had no idea why. Her parents used to tell her it was all in her imagination, that she had a vivid way of conjuring up fantastic stories and they even pushed her to become a writer at one point. Only in her heart, she always knew there was more to these dreams, so very much more.

I began waking up from my fever-induced dream; confused about my whereabouts. The room was dimly lit by candle lights, and I was covered in a maroon comforter on top of a bed that began looking more familiar the more I woke up. I felt a cold compressed washcloth over my heated forehead, the cold water dripping down my features and soothing away the hotness the fever brought me. With each breath I took, I realized how badly my chest ached; I could feel my beating heart pressing against my chest, making each movement more painful than the last.

It‌ became a se‌rie‍s of shivering fits and fever dreams. In my dream, I was back in the war‍ehouse. The fir​e was roaring. Va​nessa was ther‌e, laughi​ng. But in‍stead of smoke​, the air w‍as‌ filled with g‌erms. Giant, microscopic mo‍nsters crawling over my s​kin. I tried t​o scrub​ them off, but my han‍ds we​re⁠ tied. "​It's okay. I've go⁠t you."

The empty wine bottle and two crystal highball glasses lay slanted in the main bedroom, where the two embraced each other, immersed in a beautiful dream. The continuous fidgeting of the girl next to him and her high temperature woke Damian Desmond up. Opening his eyes, he saw her flushed face and heavy breathing, indicating she was running a fever. "Fiona, sweetheart, wake up!" He reached out to touch her forehead, the abnormal temperature indicating that she had a fever. "Ugh... uncomfortable... itchy..." The girl moved slightly, but her eyes couldn't open, her speech weak and powerless. Her hands kept scratching her body, and she moaned incessantly.