Both Sides of Nowhere

By Benjamin Lund

Life is good for Michael MacClellan. He's happy, young, and successful. It seems he's lucky in every way: in life, in love, and in work. Things are going well, and he can't imagine wanting anything more.

His life will be irrevocably changed after his long-dead father pays him a visit with a warning of things to come. It's a very simple one, but there's one problem-Michael and his brother Stephen have no idea what to do about it!

Suddenly, everyone Michael loves is threatened, and he's frightened of his own shadow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496957795

Benjamin Lund

Benjamin Lund lives in the Salt Lake City area with his wife and two sons.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

© 2014 Benjamin Lund. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  12/08/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5780-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5779-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Epilogue

One

Today was Michael MacClellan’s sixteenth birthday. It was a milestone. It was the milestone in fact, because around here, sixteen was the age when a boy was considered a man. Work went on as usual today in the town’s blacksmith shop where Michael was apprenticed to Malcolm, his father’s best friend.

Michael wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked around the room. He could barely take two steps without bumping into Malcolm. Had the place always been so small? He shook his head.

You need to stop thinking like that, right now he thought to himself. A shiver ran up his spine as he remembered the last time someone thought they needed more space.

The distraction Michael needed came in the form of his older brother Stephen.

It was just like him to jump in and start making waves. He skipped every possible bit of small talk and insisted that they celebrate Michael’s big day. Michael was afraid of this. There were few things he disliked more than big days.

In Michael’s opinion, it was just another day of the week, but Stephen was bound to make an incredible fuss. Why people celebrated getting older, Michael would never know.

Stephen trembled with excitement. It was clear he wanted to explode Michael onto their little society in spectacular fashion.

It’ll be fun, you’ll see, and you’ll never forget it said Stephen. Apparently, Stephen’s definition of ‘fun’ was going out to make a fool of him self and not know whether to be ashamed the next morning.

As for forgetting, well, Michael was determined to do just that as soon as possible. Stephen continued to make his argument but Michael stood resolutely with his arms crossed and shook his head.

I won’t do it he said. Malcolm had heard every word whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t resist throwing in his two bits.

He’ll just keep hounding you until you agree said Malcolm. Stephen smiled at the older man.

That’s true he said with a wicked grin. You may as well give in. Just drop the stubborn act for a night.

It’s not an act, and I don’t have to keep it up forever, just until tomorrow morning when my birthday’s over. You’d feel pretty silly trying to throw a party then, wouldn’t you? Stephen opened his mouth to retort. An argument didn’t occur to him right away, so he closed it again. Stephen had to admire Michael’s reasoning, but he also knew how to get around it. It was time for plan B.

You don’t like to be disturbed while you work. Michael glared at him. How’d you like me to shadow you and breathe down your collar for the rest of the day? Michael pointed at the wall to his right.

How’d you like me to knock you out with one of those hammers? It’d be no trouble dragging you home if you’re still unconscious at the end of the day.

You wouldn’t. Stephen replied. Michael paused, trying to stare Stephen down. It was no good.

No, I wouldn’t. Michael picked up his hammer again and went back to the horse shoe he was working on.

Malcolm had dropped what he was doing when Stephen came through the door. His shoulders shook hard with the laughter he was holding back. It was always a good show when Stephen came by with an argument for Michael.

Stephen took a step closer to Michael. His eyes dropped to the horse shoe and he looked at it critically, as if he knew anything about the work.

Michael took a deep breath and prayed for patience. Maybe Stephen would go away if he ignored him. Michael tightened his grip on the hammer and clenched his jaw. He absolutely hated when people looked over his shoulder and Stephen knew it. Stephen wasn’t a great believer in personal space, or maybe he was, just not when it came to getting his way. Michael didn’t know.

Michael played it out in his mind. His brother would stand close enough to whisper in his ear. Michael could almost feel his brother’s breath on the side of his face. He’d make unwelcome comments and useless suggestions and offer uneducated opinions for hours. Michael gritted his teeth. It drove him insane.

Suddenly, enduring a little birthday party didn’t sound so bad. He still wanted to escape, but chances of that were slim at best. If Stephen didn’t put one on, someone else would. There was no way to win.

Michael let his shoulders slump, a sure sign of defeat and Stephen grinned from ear to ear. It was against his better judgment and Michael knew he’d regret it, but he agreed. Stephen turned and skipped out of the shop.

I’m only doing it to shut you up Michael called after him. So don’t expect me to enjoy it.

Don’t be silly. Be at Cleary’s by sunset said Stephen. Malcolm couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He cracked up and Michael gave him a sour look.

Are you done? Malcolm wiped a tear from his eye as he tried to regain some self control.

I think so. I love when your brother comes in, don’t you? Michael sighed, then smiled. It was difficult, but he could see the humor of the situation, even if it was at his expense. He tried to think positively. It might seem like Stephen was going to torture him, but that wasn’t the case. His big brother was trying to be nice in his own way.

I’ll go with you…for moral support said Malcolm. Michael didn’t like the way he said it.

Am I going to a party in my honor, or under the knife to have a growth removed? Malcolm grinned again and fought back more laughter.

Just bite down hard. It’ll be over soon. Michael wasn’t really comforted.

The day was nearly over and Michael had very mixed feelings about the coming evening. He and Malcolm started the daily routine of putting up the tools, extinguishing the lights and washing up. It wouldn’t do to walk around in public smelling like the shop.

Malcolm held the door for Michael and then locked it behind them.

There wasn’t much to say, so they walked in silence. There were times when they didn’t need to speak. Each usually knew what the other was thinking. Malcolm was like a father.

Michael would have thanked Malcolm for coming along if Malcolm himself wasn’t so hesitant. Obviously, he’d been to some of Cleary’s big events before and didn’t have fond memories of them. He didn’t enjoy raucous parties.

Cleary had a pub in town. It wasn’t far from the shop. Come to think of it, nothing was far from Cleary’s. It was a good business move. The location made the place unavoidable. If someone needed to stumble home, they wouldn’t have far to go.

The room was large, moderately lit and always full of men fresh from their day’s work. Cleary’s crowd was rough looking, but friendly. All eyes fell on Michael as he and Malcolm walked through the door of the pub.

The place was crowded. Michael would have been impressed with Stephen for spreading the news so quickly. But truth be told, this was nothing new. There were no new faces that Michael could see. These had all been his neighbors since he was born and everyone knew it was his birthday anyway.

Happy birthday! They all shouted and clapped. Stephen was there, of course, and was the loudest of any of them. Cleary could also be heard. His voice was distinctive, higher and a bit nasal. He was shorter than most, round and red cheeked. His appearance was deceiving though. Cleary was quick on his feet. He had to be to keep up with his customers, of which there were many.

Cleary stood by the fire on the far side of the room, stirring a large pot. Of course he was. Michael had heard of Cleary’s famous punch. It was called that because if one let it touch the tongue, they’d be knocked onto their backside. The sweet smell tickled Michael’s nose. It was so strong that he had to fight the urge to sneeze. Malcolm leaned over so only Michael could hear.

Time to put on your happy face Michael turned up the corners of his mouth in what he hoped was a passable grin. Michael hated being the center of attention, even if it was only for an hour or two.

Thanks everyone. Now he had to at least pretend to enjoy himself. Stephen walked over and clapped his brother on the back. Then the three of them took the only empty table that was left, tucked way back in a corner. That suited Michael just fine. They had to zigzag to get there. Maybe Michael could step out of the spotlight and blend in.

Cleary gave his punch a little taste and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

He picked up the pot with cloth covering his hands and made his way to the bar with it. Everyone knew to clear a path for him. It would be ugly if there was a spill. Cleary lifted the pot with a huff and set it carefully on the bar. It did look heavy. A helper emerged from a door behind the bar with two trays of large mugs. Cleary filled them with the steaming liquid and started passing it around. Michael watched and noticed that everyone who took one sniffed at it appreciatively.

He wondered if it wouldn’t be so bad after all. He accepted a mug from Cleary.

Enjoy. And happy birthday.

Thanks again. Cleary turned and walked away again. Everyone went on talking and laughing. It was just another night at the Cleary’s.

Michael looked down into his cup. The punch was dark brown in color, thick and smooth. He tried not to breathe the steam too deeply. The smell was much, much stronger up close. Stephen had taken one as well. He winked at Michael and exchanged a look with Malcolm, who shook his head slightly.

What’s this made of? Michael asked. Malcolm and Stephen shrugged together.

Cleary’s never told anyone. Michael raised it to his lips and took a sip, then paused while the flavor settled on his tongue. It was indescribable, and almost too much for Michael to handle.

He coughed and almost choked. How embarrassing would it be to spit it out right now? Michael was pretty sure he’d never live it down, so he tightly closed his eyes and swallowed. It burned going down: mouth, throat and belly.

He was nervous about the next time nature called. Stephen slapped the table and shook with laughter. Even Malcolm smiled a little. Michael coughed again and sucked in some air to cool his tongue.

You tough guys think this is funny?

Kind of Malcolm admitted. Stephen just kept laughing.

What about yours? Michael asked. Stephen finally managed to breathe again.

I never touch this stuff. And by the way, you’re supposed to gulp it right down, not let it sit on your tongue. I thought everyone knew that.

A gleam came to Michael’s eye. He couldn’t resist a chance to out do his brother at something. Stephen recognized the look on Michael’s face and settled right down. It was foolish and Michael knew he’d regret it later, but he raised his cup to his lips anyway.

Don’t do it Stephen cautioned.

Watch me. Michael plugged his nose, drained his punch in three gulps then, slammed the mug down on the table. His insides felt like they were on fire, but he kept a stone face.

The room was suddenly quiet. Michael looked around, noticing looks of concern on everyone’s faces.

One could hear a pin drop right now. Everyone waited to see if Michael would keel over. Michael smiled at them.

Not bad he croaked. Their anxiety turned to admiration and they cheered. Cleary only shook his head and clapped. Michael looked across the table at Stephen.

I guess no one’s ever done that before said Michael.

You’re definitely the first Malcolm replied.

Cleary will polish that cup and put it on display for sure added Stephen.

You’ll be hurting in the morning said Malcolm. Michael already knew that to be true. The heat was still rushing through him. Michael had to admit it was an interesting sensation. Then the dizziness began to hit. Stephen and Malcolm started chatting about something that he didn’t pick up on.

Now his vision blurred just a little and his head began to swim. Why, oh why didn’t he just go home after work and endure a little of Stephen’s teasing?

It was hard to keep track of how much time was passing, but things must have been getting slow and the crowd lethargic. Michael knew this because he saw Cleary jump up onto the bar to get everyone’s attention.

Let’s have a match! he shouted. There was a roar of general agreement.

Cleary occasionally liked to have a friendly boxing match or two at his place. Friendly was the key word and everyone knew the rule: No knockouts. First to draw blood from the face, wins. Anyone who broke it was promptly thrown out and told not to come back.

Stephen and the birthday boy first, step up here, if you please There was a loud scraping of chairs. Everyone moved their seats and tables as far out of the way as they could to make space on the center floor. Michael wasn’t quick to get up. He put his hands over his ears.

The sound of everything was amplified, distorted and a little overwhelming. Stephen grabbed Michael by the arm and helped him up.

You alright? he asked. Michael may have been a bit unsteady on his feet at the moment, but he wasn’t about to back out. He forced himself to focus.

I’m fine. Let’s do this. Malcolm did nothing to interfere, but he was ready to step in if he needed to. Cleary pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket, got down on his knees and drew a line down the middle of the floor. Michael rolled up his sleeves. He and Stephen both placed a foot on the line and knuckled up. Stephen threw the first punch. That fist was the last thing Michael saw before the lights went out.

When Michael woke up, he was in his own bed. He cracked open one eye and groaned as he remembered what happened. Stephen must have carried him home. Michael knew he’d be the butt of a joke for a while.

To his relief, the sun wasn’t up yet. He flinched as he noticed the pounding in his head and the smoky feeling in his mouth left by Cleary’s punch. There was a spot under his right eye that felt tender. Michael reached up and touched in gingerly. Michael knew that if he looked in a mirror right now, he’d see a large purple bruise there.

Thanks a lot, Stephen.

Stephen was still asleep in his corner, so Michael rolled over and closed his eye again.

The dream started almost immediately. He was standing on the edge his land under a blue cloudless sky. It was daytime. That much was clear, but there was no sun overhead. Michael would have thought this was strange, but he’d visited this place in his sleep many times since his father died six years ago. He was used to it by now.

A little way off, there was a group of men at work, building a large castle of black stone. He heard the sound of falling hammers as they shaped the rock into blocks.

There was a tent set up only a hundred yards from the structure. Men walked to and from it, carrying rolled papers. Michael guessed that’s where the architect stayed, overseeing the work and giving orders.

Michael sat cross legged on the ground and watched the men work. It may have been boring to others, but Michael found it very interesting for some reason.

It’ll be a beautiful sight when it’s finished. This was another strange thing Michael was accustomed to. A young dark haired man appeared from nowhere and sat next to him. They spoke as if they’d been friends for years. But Michael hadn’t yet learned his name.

The dream ended and Michael was back in bed, in his own home. Michael knew it was just past dawn by the sunlight beginning to shine through his eyelids.

Now started the routine Michael knew by heart. He lay there, pretending to still be asleep and listened.

Stephen stretched and yawned on the other side of the room. His bed frame creaked as he sat up and got to his feet. Five thumps of bare footsteps and he was out the door. Half a minute passed and there was a high squeaking sound. Stephen was drawing water from the well for himself.

Michael counted silently to five then, smiled to himself as he heard Stephen cursing. He’d dunked his head into the bucket.

Why is the water always so damned cold?! Michael smiled wider and tried to hold back a laugh, then quickly wiped the grin from his face.

Stephen would be back in less than a minute to wake him. Michael wished he wouldn’t. He wanted to lay there a while longer.

If I keep still, maybe Stephen will leave me alone after last night he thought. He heard Stephen take two steps up to the door and another five to cross the room again.

No such luck.

A whole bucketful of freezing water cascaded right into Michael’s face. Michael gasped, coughed, spluttered and waved his arms.

Morning, gorgeous! shouted Stephen. Michael flew from his bed and tried to grab his brother by the neck, but it was too late. Stephen was out the door again, in a dead run.

Michael chased after him, intent on having revenge. He was fast, but Stephen was always able to stay out of his reach. This annoyed Michael to no end. Stephen looked over his shoulder, laughing and taunting. That fueled Michael and Stephen knew it.

Are you awake yet? Stephen said over his shoulder.

You know I am! Now stand still so I can beat the tar out of you!

That’s not going to happen, little brother. They chased five or six times around the outside of the house, then to the barn and back, and both of them finally ran out of breath. Michael stopped, bent over and placed his hands on his knees to steady himself. Stephen did likewise and tried to catch his breath.

Michael couldn’t tell if it was sweat or leftover well water still running down his forehead. He looked over at Stephen and smiled. Stephen knew the fight had gone out of him.

You’re quick, for an old man.

So are you, for a runt. They laughed together and stood up straight. Stephen put an arm over Michael’s shoulder and they walked back into the house. It was small, simple and modestly furnished. In addition to their beds on opposite sides of the room, there was a small table with three chairs.

One of them was where their father always sat. Neither brother moved or even touched it since they heard their father was dead. The chair sat there as a reminder of what they’d both lost.

There was a fireplace with a spit and pot for cooking. Above that was a mantle that their father had made himself. The only window in the house was opaque with years of grime. It was covered by curtains once, but one day they just fell down and weren’t replaced. What was the point?

The brothers weren’t shy, and their neighbors were in town, more than three miles away. Other than the window, they kept the place passably clean.

Just because they lived simply, didn’t mean they weren’t well off. Michael was paid handsomely for his work at the shop and Stephen regularly hired out. But their little fortunes were for their posterity, not for themselves.

It was a lesson their father had taught them.

Breakfast? Stephen asked. Michael’s stomach growled, but it was more from the effects of Cleary’s punch than hunger. Maybe food wasn’t such a good idea right now.

No thanks. I think I’ll just head to work.

"Don’t you even want to