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Do you ever read two (or more) completely unrelated books, in quick succession, that seem � somehow, by coincidence � spiritually identical? This has happened to me recently with Iain Reid's I’m Thinking of Ending Things and Samanta Schweblin's Fever Dream. (I'm tempted to add Jen George's short story collection The Babysitter at Rest too, since it's insistently dreamlike and illogical, but it's too irreverent to be a true match for the others.) Both Ending Things and Fever Dream are very short novellas that can easily be read in their entirety in an hour or two. They share a sense of shifting nightmare logic and a horrible compulsive darkness that makes you burn through the pages in search of an answer. Both feel predominantly like horror stories despite the absence of many of the genre's typical hallmarks and the fact that they are not packaged as horror.

Fever Dream opens with a disorientating conversation; I had to read the first page several times. Eventually it becomes apparent that the narrator, Amanda, is lying in a hospital bed and answering the questions put to her, with some urgency, by a boy named David. She is telling a story, or rather recounting things that have happened to her, while David is trying to identify 'the important thing', 'the exact moment when the worms come into being'. What worms? Well, exactly. It doesn't seem likely they are actual worms, but in this aptly-named novella you can never be sure.

A narrative emerges, taking place just a few days earlier. Amanda and her young daughter, Nina, meet David and his mother, Carla, while on holiday. Carla claims there is something wrong with David, and then she, in turn, tells Amanda a story. When David was three, he was poisoned after drinking contaminated water from a stream. Carla took him to 'the green house', where a local woman performed a 'migration': sending David's soul into another's body so he could continue to live. Since then, his body has been inhabited by the spirit of another. So Carla says. What happens to Amanda and Nina after this is what leads to Amanda's hospitalisation and David's demand that they pinpoint 'the exact moment', 'before time runs out'. Though some aspects of the story seem meaningful to Amanda, David dispassionately skips over anything he deems unimportant. Some details are recurring motifs: Carla's gold bikini, Nina's cuddly toy mole. Then there's the matter of the 'rescue distance', Amanda's obsessive idea of how far she can safely be from her daughter in case of an emergency.

It's quite a strange thing to read a story where you fear the ending but feel a desperate need to get to it. Fever Dream made me feel sick, but I can't tell you why. It really is like a nonsensical dream from which you wake with a great sense of dread, as though you've had a terrible nightmare, even though the details weren't particularly horrifying in themselves. I'm really not sure I understood it, and reading other reviews, including those from professional critics, I'm not convinced many other people did either. It teases some dreadful shock but never shows its hand. In the end, that lack of an answer, the fruitless search for understanding, is the real horror.

I received an advance review copy of Fever Dream from the publisher through .

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