FutureImperfect by Stefan Petrucha Read Free Book Online

a fist, as if the meaning-volume of his soul’s ears had been turned up full.
    Harry thought he was being killed, but when the inner onslaught ended, miraculously, he wasn’t only still alive, he was thinking clearer, cleaner, as if the giant’s words had burned some of his madness away.
    Harry looked around. Glimpses of life trails, Quirks, Glitches, and drifting Timeflys poked from between the enormous polka-dot folds of the clown’s floppy pant-legs. He was in A-Time. Despite the drugs, he’d gone timeless.
    How?
    â€œBecause I brought you here,” the clown responded, though Harry’s question hadn’t been asked out loud.
    Its lips parted into a grin, revealing again its massive white teeth and horrid pink tongue. It looked awful happy. Was that a good thing? Better than having it angry, Harry supposed.
    â€œAre you going to kill me?” It seemed as good a time as any to ask.
    It shook its head. “We’re not enemies, Harry. This isn’t Godzilla versus Cremora .”
    â€œUmm…isn’t that Gammera?”
    â€œNo. Cremora. Seems the big lizard is lactose intolerant.”
    When Harry didn’t react, the clown’s face turned serious.
    â€œIt’s a joke. Get it?”
    Harry just stared at it. Yeah, a bad joke…
    â€œNo, a good one.” It opened its cavernous mouth and laughed, releasing a gale that pushed Harry’s body deep into the terrain beneath him.
    The clown raised an eyebrow. “See? A joke. You should lighten up a little, y’know?”
    Harry raised himself from the Harry-shaped hole that had formed beneath him. “Lighten up? How can I, with you haunting me, ever since…ever since…”
    â€œYes?” the clown asked.
    Ever since what?
    Harry realized he’d been seeing the clown since his father died. Ever since he was struck by lightning when the preacher asked God to do just that. Like a joke. Like a big, bad joke, a killer punch line no joker could resist.
    Like Godzilla versus Cremora.
    Emotion overwhelmed Harry’s fear. “Did you kill my father?”
    The giant’s head shook gently from side to side. “Not exactly. Closer to say I am your father’s death.”
    Harry’s body shivered, but his brow furrowed defiantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    The clown gave him a half smile. “That I manifest in certain events. I’m an archetype, Harry, the visible face of a god. Specifically, the Fool, the Trickster, Azeban, Brer Rabbit, Aunt Nancy, Bamapana, Tezcatlipoca, Puck, the Monkey King, Satan, Renart the Fox, Bugs Bunny, Prometheus, Hermes Trismegistus, Coyote, Kokopelli, Kantjil, Amaguq, Kitsune, Mantis, Nasreddin, Loki, Sosruko, Nanabush, Maui, Agu Tonpa, Cin-an-ev, Baron Samedi, Anansi, Eshu, Ozat, Meribank, even Spongebob Squarepants…”
    Just like the YESes that came before, each name carried a score of impressions: steamy African veldts, windswept North American plains, smoky European cities, places of heat, of cold, and all the temperatures in between.
    Harry shook his head, trying to shed the maelstrom, and said, “You’re the balloon. The one that led me to Todd and Melody.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI thought you were a memory, a statue at Dreamland. Just something left over from childhood.”
    â€œThat, too. Just not just .”
    An archetype. A god. Sure. According to Jung and Campbell, they were the building blocks of the human mind. Of course, you weren’t supposed to be able to chat with them. But if it were true, Harry was staring at something created by the timeless energies of everyone on the planet, past, present, and future. Everyone.
    Maybe it was a god.
    A glint appeared in the Fool’s eyes. From its expression, Harry could tell it’d heard each of his thoughts and found his despair amusing.
    Harry swallowed. “Am I imagining you, like I did Elijah?”
    The clown chuckled. “Yes and