Henry Rider: Clown Hunter

Chapter Eighteen

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Chapter Eighteen

With Ethan's hand in mine, we ventured deeper into Uncle Junk's beautiful domain of detritus.

This place was a maze of winding, dimly lit hallways. There were no lightbulbs to be found here, only dusty chandeliers and candelabras that burned with teddy bears, discarded boxer shorts, old book reports, and whatever else Uncle Junk had been able to stuff inside them.

Every square inch of space, from floor to ceiling, was covered in shelves of merchandise that would have put Aesop's store to shame. Anything and everything you could think of was piled up in crooked, haphazard towers — and I mean everything. There were the kinds of things you'd expect to see at a flea market, like books, old toys, antiques, dinner plates, and used electronics. But there were also moldy banana peels, candy bar wrappers, broken toilet seats, and half eaten sandwiches.

And I loved every bit of it.

"When he said he got his stuff from dumps and trash cans," Ethan spoke up after a few minutes of browsing, "I thought he was joking."

I looked up from the chewed up dog toy I'd noticed. "The sign outside says Trash Emporium. What did you expect?"

"I didn't think it was a store that literally sold trash!" He poked at what was either the sole of a worn out shoe, or a dehydrated cow's tongue. "Seriously, who buys this stuff?"

"You'd be surprised what people throw away," said Uncle Junk, his head popping out of a nearby shoebox like some kind of Junk-in-the-Box. Ethan screamed and ducked behind me. "And you'd be even more surprised what other people will buy!"

"He's right," I said. "I come here whenever I can. You can find some awesome stuff here if you look hard enough!"

"Okay, granted," Ethan admitted, and held up a moldy tube sock with a massive hole in it. "But this?"

Uncle Junk's eyes twinkled. "You'd be surprised!"

Ethan looked at me, like he expected me to make sense of all this wonderful madness for him, and I just shrugged. Then the door at the front jingled, and Uncle Junk sank down into his shoebox, carefully placing the lid back on top. After a second, Ethan lifted the lid up again, but there was nothing inside but a single muddy cowboy boot.

"That man," said Ethan, "is clearly insane."

"Well, of course he is," I replied. "How do you think he got here?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "The train?"

"If by that you mean his train of thought, then yes." I turned to head further into the store. "And that train has derailed, fallen into a cliff, exploded into a billion tiny pieces, and then a crazy hobo named Angus the Ostrich Slayer used those pieces to make a hundred foot tall statue to honor his favorite butt cheek."

Judging by the look Ethan gave me, I may as well have been talking backwards for all the sense I was making.

"Look," I said with a sigh, "interdimensional Corners are really hard to explain, and even harder to understand. Most humans can't do it. When they try, their brains tend to, you know, melt."

"I think I've been doing just fine," Ethan shot back.

I laughed. "No offense, but you haven't been doing anything. You humans are stuck in your normal three dimensions. That's why I make you close your eyes whenever we cut a Corner."