The day that we left home to come to Owl Hall, Martin told me that he’d had a dream in the night – a bad dream.
In his dream, he was reading a book. He said the book was the story of his life. He was reading the book and, as he was turning the pages, he could feel the end of the book getting closer and closer. I mean … he looked at the pages he’d read and there were hundreds of pages, but there were only a few pages left to read. And Martin thought: that’s not right. I’m thirteen. There should be thousands of pages still to read.
When he told me about the dream, he looked scared so I tried to make him feel better. I said that maybe there were different books in the story of his life. Maybe he had to finish that book before starting another. We were talking in my bedroom at home and I pointed at all the books on the bookshelf and said, ‘There are lots of books on the shelf.’ And he said, ‘In your room there are lots of books. But there aren’t any books in my room.’
He was right. I’d never thought of it before but there weren’t any books in his bedroom. He said he liked his room to be like a prison cell.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe because Martin was in the dream I just had tonight. I mean he was really in the dream. He must have been there! When I started telling him about it, he already knew what I had dreamed.
Do people ever have the same dream? I wonder if identical twins ever have identical dreams and appear in each other’s dreams. It’s strange. I think I’m going crazy. Martin is not my identical twin. He’s my brother. So what was he doing in my dream??
Be careful! Some comments might give you clues to the story.