Free The Storyteller by Aaron Starmer Page A

similar?”
    There are tons of books out there about kids who hop through space and time and visit magical worlds, so I guess I’ve always assumed that other dimensions are very different from ours. But maybe they don’t have to be.
    â€œI’ve never really thought of it until now,” I told him.
    â€œYeah,” he said. “Most people don’t think about it until they have to. Can I be honest with you about something?”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    â€œI go to another dimension sometimes.”
    He said it like he might say he goes to the movies sometimes, or to the mall sometimes. Like it was nothing.
    â€œYou … What do you mean?”
    â€œI know it sounds strange to you, but hear me out.” He slid off his bed and moved to his dresser, where he pulled a pen out of a warped clay mug he’d made in art class. “I wanted you to listen to that tape to ease you into some things. These things I’m going to tell you are pretty off-the-wall, but I think you’re open to a … different way of thinking.”
    â€œI’m your sister,” I said. “It basically means you can tell me everything.”
    His chuckle was now a full-fledged laugh. “I’m not sure if that’s what it means,” he said.
    â€œI love you,” I said, because as I mentioned before, I don’t say that enough.
    â€œThank you,” Alistair said. “You might not after I’m done talking, but thank you.”
    Of course, I wanted him to say I love you too . I didn’t need him to say it, but I wanted him to say it. What I needed was for him to understand what I truly felt.
    â€œI will always love you,” I said this time, because I’ve never said that before. Because it’s true.
    â€œThis whole thing started with a sister named Una who loved her brother,” he said. “Actually, before even that, there was the wombat and the waterfall, but you already know that, don’t you?”
    I did. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Not this Una stuff. The wombat! The waterfall! I can’t delve into the exact details right now, because the idea isn’t fully formed yet, but as I told you before, it has to do with the ending of Luna’s story. How would Alistair know about the ending when I’d only written the beginning? It was scary, even scarier than the dead hummingbird a few weeks ago. I struggled to respond.
    â€œYou know … about…”
    â€œYou’re uncomfortable,” he said. “I can tell. Hear me out. I’ve seen your wombat. It has strands of glowing fur. I’ve seen your waterfall. It’s in a dark forest, and the wombat is at the bottom of the pool beneath it.”
    That was it, the exact image. It first came to me early that morning after Kyle’s shooting. I was showering, trying to wake up, trying to wash away my frightening new reality, one full of gunshots and missing kids. I know it was only in my mind, but at that moment the image seemed seared into the inner skin of my eyelids. Water crashing down. A shimmering pool. And at the bottom, a wombat, the strands of its fur glowing.
    â€œWhere did you see it?” I asked, afraid of his answer, afraid of any answer.
    â€œI saw it in the last scraps of memories I can access from a girl named Una,” he said.
    I was tempted to walk out of the room then and there. What was my brother doing? Who was Una and how could he see her memories? How could he see mine?
    â€œYou’re scaring me,” I said. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
    â€œI’m saying that the idea for the wombat didn’t materialize from nothing. It originated somewhere. It found its way to you. Which means you’re special.”
    It was cold outside. It was cold in his room. Yet my skin felt hot, like I was about to sweat. I didn’t feel special. I felt sick.
    â€œIdeas like that don’t come