Breaking the Fever of Sirius

A girl finds a secret to save her brother, but at what cost?

Breaking the Fever of Sirius

In Bartow’s Peace River valley, the air shimmered, thick with heat. Twelve-year-old Rainey wiped sweat from her brow, sneakers scuffing the cracked sidewalk. Summer—once full of bike rides and fireflies—felt wrong this July.

Whispers of the Dog Days, when Sirius, the Dog Star, brought fever and bad luck, filled the town. Rainey didn’t believe in astrology, but a heavy dread gripped her, like Bartow held its breath. Rainey’s morning began with her brother, Joey, coughing next door. His fever spiked two days ago, when the weatherman noted Sirius’s rise.

“It’s just a bug,” their mom said, eyes darting to the orange-glowed sky. Rainey overheard her muttering about the Dog Days stirring trouble. Joey’s fever lingered, and the clinic overflowed with heatstroke cases and odd dreams.

Rainey decided to act. If the Dog Days were real, she’d break their spell.“I’m going to the library,” she called, slipping out. The old Bartow library’s shelves brimmed with dusty books. Rainey, certain answers about Sirius awaited, stepped into its quiet, stale air. Mrs. Connor, the librarian, squinted over her glasses. “Secrets from the stars? Check the ancient astrology section, in the back corner. Mind the dust.”

Rainey found a worn book, “Dark Stars and Their Effects on the Seasons,” its pages crackling as she opened to a chapter on Sirius. The text described Sirius’s heliacal rising, which appears before dawn, signaling heat, madness, and fever. Hellenistic astrologers believed the light of Sirius, unfiltered, could burn a person’s spirit, leaving them sick. Rainey’s fingers trembled. Joey’s cough, the town’s eerie quiet—it all fit.

The book detailed a ritual to cool Sirius’s fiery bite: the spell required a virgin’s blood and a heartfelt offering under the star’s gaze. Rainey didn’t fully believe it, but Joey’s pale face urged her to try. That night, she snuck out, backpack heavy with a mason jar, her grandfather’s pocket knife, and Joey’s stuffed bear, Fuzzy, its straw peeking through an empty eye socket.

The ridge beyond the Hwy 60 bridge offered a clear view of the sky. Rainey climbed through dry vines, her breath short in the humid air. At the top, she faced east, where Sirius would rise, ready to speak to the star with what she hoped was a meaningful offering. When the time was right, Rainey raised her right hand, blocking the star, and with her left, pressed her grandfather’s knife to her palm. She inhaled deeply, held it for five seconds, and exhaled, pulling the blade down. She dropped the knife, cupping her right hand over the mason jar at her feet, counting a dozen blood droplets.

Raising the jar and Fuzzy, she spoke: “Sirius, scorcher of skies, hear my plea. Receive my blood, mixed in these, the tears of Mother Earth, take this offering for my brother, only six, and set him free.” She whispered, “Please, make Joey well.” The air thickened. A cramp gripped her ribs like a set of monstrous paws pouncing on her. Darkness closed in, and as her consciousness seemed to fade, a pinprick of light—Sirius—blazed bright. Her skin prickled, but she held her gaze. A cool breeze swept over the ridge, and the ache vanished, as if clawed out and carried away on feathered wings. Rainey shivered, rocking in place, hands clutching Fuzzy’s fur.
The sky stayed dark, but the dread in her chest lifted, like a fever breaking. She ran home, sneakers pounding the dirt. In Joey’s room, he slept, his forehead cool. Her mom, dozing in a chair, didn’t stir. Rainey tucked Fuzzy under Joey’s arm, smiling as he hugged it tight.

That morning, Joey sat up, asking for pancakes. The town felt lighter—neighbors waved, the orange haze gone blue. Rainey kept silent about the ridge and her offering to Sirius. The kids in the neighborhood chattered about the Dog Days ending early, the heatwave gone overnight. She didn’t care if it was her ritual or luck. Joey was better, and that was enough.

Biking home under a kinder sun, Sirius’s myth lingered—not a curse, but a reminder: a small act of hope could cool the fiercest fire. That night, Rainey thanked God for the miracle. But said nothing, as the question lingered—had her blood offering been wrong? Am I still a virgin? She glanced at the sky. “Your book could’ve been a little clearer.” Her head bowed. “But Joey’s safe, and blood for blood matters, Papa said.” She kissed the pocket knife, tucked it in her jewelry box, slipped into bed, and pulled up the sheet. “Tomorrow, we’ll see what else lingers on those old shelves in the corner.”



Author's notes ▼

776 words written for "The Writer's Cramp"  on "WINNER and New Prompt: Due July 11, 2025"  . The dog days or dog days of summer are the hot, sultry days of summer. They were historically associated with the period following the heliacal rising of the star system Sirius, which Hellenistic astrology linked to heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck. Write a story about one astrological aspect of the "Dog Days of Summer".

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