The Eighteen

DEDICATION HEATHER

Dedication

To my wife Heather for years of love, care, and belief in our dreams.

❖

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COLLECTION

The Eighteen

Short Fiction

by

Sean Andrews

Approx. 30,000+ Words

1988 - 2023

Wino Piles Mobile Dumpster

JUSTIN AND THE MARTIANS Graveyard Frolics

Metaphysical Pineapple The Seed

THE WICS - Black Cat

Dust Bugs - Fantasty

COLONIAL MANOR II Retribution

Gravel Stone Heirloom

Bonnie & Frank Dystopian Love Story

Stranger Walks The Road

Windows Playwright’s Tale

Teutonic Summer A Fantasy

WILLIS Truth be Told

Prisoner of Light This Room

Boy Who Wouldn’t Boy Logic

THE LEGIONS The Capsule

Bull Down Tillman$ Handout

Old Woman Designer Shoe Issues

Fiend Within Or Was He?

FROM THE AUTHOR

FROM THE AUTHOR

Written in 1989 – Wino Piles popped into my head. Little can be said as to the relevance without adding four children a new wife in an older home in the center of a metropolitan city. The model family in the mobile dumpster in no way relates to my situation. However, my not perfectly spaced children presented a 24/7 challenges, some of which created amusement. If one loves kids, life can be great with a medium size family.

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WINO PILES

WINO PILES

Mobile Dumpster

It’s just too cute to let wander around the alley, dear, she said in a most sympathetic tone.

I know, honey. I am sure someone owns the animal; therefore, we need to call the police, or the zoo, or someone, and have them come get it, he said. The sternness of the face indicated his position on adoption of another creature into the three-story Victorian reclaimed from the inner-city blight.

James Mason, if someone owned that animal, don’t you think they would know if it was missing and try to find it? Heidi Mason said.

Mommy, Mommy, Winnie’s voice shrieked as the boy ran from the kitchen door across the deck, down the six wooden steps, and into the yard. It’s a baby pig.

No, Winston, that, the elder Mason explained; the other three Masons interrupted when they exploded from the seven-color restored home, almost knocking Winnie, the youngest Mason, to the ground. En masse, they started after the frightened animal.

Hold it, Mr. Mason shouted. All the young Masons froze. His raised voice shocked them protest-less. The squat invader whirled about in the chain link area across the alley where the Osterman’s parked their BMWs. Osterman and BMW meant at least three. Perplexing to the younger Masons, why two people would always own at least three cars. Winnie attempted to mimic his mother's wrinkled nose for her pet phrase for the perpetual ‘whys’ of the Oystermen’s.

‘Nouveau riche,’ she would say.

Heidi marched defiantly past the stationary Masons; the rigidity of her posture softened as she crossed the alley. The young animal squared itself to the approaching foe. She slowed and held the well-tanned hand forward.

The quadruped stiffened.

Mrs. Mason stopped about six feet away. The adversaries eyed each other suspiciously. The animal walked cautiously up to a motionless, possibly petrified Heidi Mason. Confident, she turned and yelled,

See, he’s harmless.

At that moment, the visitor bolted past her and veered toward the children. Mr. Mason stopped his verbal response and ran into a position between the children and the aggressor.

Mrs. Mason yelled. Into the house, children!

Mr. Mason waved his arms like a chicken in a henhouse raid. His voice was almost a screech as he ran. This stimulated the normal reaction. In full attack mode, the mammal held its head low to the ground. The rhino charged directly at James Mason; the children ran up the stairs and behind the railing of the deck. Mrs. Mason followed from across the alley, yelling as she ran. Which, of course, added to the animal’s fright.

Get in the house, get in the house, get in the house. She yelled over and over.

The confused animal veered at the last second to avoid a diving Mr. Mason. Unfortunately for both, who each guessed the same evasive direction, the charger struck Mr. Mason in the ribs with its short legs when it tried to jump over the falling body. The front stubby legs landed in the elder Mason’s midriff. After the impact, the animal almost stood on its nose before rolling to its side and sliding a few feet. The children watched silently. Their father rolled over and over after being mown down linebacker style.

The youngsters then realized the animal was now headed for the steps. Heidi Mason, oblivious to her husband’s status, followed in frenetic pursuit. The pitch and intensity of her voice must have added fuel to the young attacker’s desire to escape, for it leaped in two bounds up the deck steps and slid on the wooden flooring. The effort to stop and turn simultaneously confused physics. All the young Masons hugged the rail. The mini-rhino’s gravity-defying maneuver failed to turn it ninety degrees, and momentum carried the frantic form past them.

shshshsskkkk... wwwwwwhhhhooopppp, into the side of the house! The heavy body bounced off the wall and shot without hesitation through the still open kitchen door.

Mrs. Mason arrived inside to find her newest house guest standing with its backside pressed firmly against her grandmother’s spindle leg table. That position in the far corner of the living room apparently made it secure because the gray eyes glared belligerently at the young Masons peering from behind Mother Mason while she plotted her next move.

Where’s daddy? Winnie asked.

Daddy, oh, shi--, sorry children, she said.

In unison, the Masons turned toward the kitchen and walked out onto the deck. There still in the yard lay the elder Mason, holding his chest and gasping for air.

Oh, shi--, sorry children, Mrs. Mason said. She walked mindlessly down the steps. Close the door, Stony, so it won’t get out, she said, then Heidi crossed the yard.

What’s wrong, Daddy? Winnie asked. He rushed past the indecisive Mrs. Mason standing over her gasping husband.

Heidi moved Winnie and kneeled down beside him. What’s wrong, dear, where does it hurt? she asked. The thirty-six-year-old C.P.A. with the soft voice, hazel eyes, and prep school shag held both hands against his rib cage on the left side.

Your ribs hurt, Heidi asked, cocking her head in anticipation of an answer.

Instead, Mr. Mason’s eyes rolled upward in his head, but only gasps came from his lips.

Stony, call the doctor, Mrs. Mason yelled over her left shoulder, directly into the oldest Mason’s zipper, because he now stood behind her.

Yes, Mom, he said, and turned obediently toward the house.

Bambi Osterman drove up the alley and wheeled the 750i past the ambulance, in her usual fashion parking diagonally across the private spaces, so Mr. Osterman would have to move her car to park his BMW. Stony paused on the deck steps to watch her slip from the glossy black car, confused by the first biological urges of a twelve-year-old male as he watched her. Mrs. Osterman’s real name was not Bambi, but Crystal. The Mason children had nicknamed Bernie Osterman’s second wife, Bambi, because of the mottled coloring of her frizzy bleached hair and moronic bouncing gait. She exploded from the car, waved, and shouted in her shrieky voice,

Hi, Masons, and disappeared past the six-foot chain-link fence, then behind the brick patio wall.

The lower jaw of Pidge, the oldest of the two Mason girls, dropped open in disbelief as she watched the arm of Mrs. Osterman vanish behind the wall.

The white and red ambulance pulled slowly away as it moved up the alley. Dr. Stephen Farnsworth turned back toward the Masons, sans Dad.

He’ll be in pain for a while. Broken ribs are very painful, but Jim will be just fine in a few weeks, the doctor concluded.

Millie Mason, the next youngest, said, Gee, Mom, what about the, she lowered her voice, thing in the house?

Shush, Mill, we’ll talk about that later, Mrs. Mason interrupted.

Thank you, Dr. Farnsworth, for coming so quickly, and tell James I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I take care of some pressing problems here. He’ll understand.

Puzzled, the doctor ignored the obvious and excused himself to follow the ambulance to the hospital. The young Masons followed their mother single file into the house in order of birth. The first, Stony, a school nickname with short brown stubble about his head, was brown-eyed, tall, skinny, and very adolescent. Pigeon, a babyhood moniker for her cooing sounds, was the 10-year-old copy of her mother, Heidi. The pistachio-eyed brunette’s pigtails bounced about the freckled, ruddy complexion. Millie, for Millicent, Heidi’s great-grandmother, the third perfectly spaced child, at age eight, scuffed her gum sole. Bean duck shoes along the flagstone path, blonde-capped, blue-eyed mind oblivious to the duck-like formation. And Winnie, Winnie named for Winston, Mr. Mason’s favorite political figure. The frantic red head with the electric green eyes moped uncharacteristically at the rear. The Masons entered the house, where their new guest stood in the kitchen’s corner.

"It really