Free Seven Point Eight by Marie A. Harbon

the living room, it appeared he had a visitor, who’d probably some to see his father. Many people came and went in his father’s life, so it wasn’t unusual to find someone in the house. The male visitor was middle aged, with a full head of grey hair and he sat on the sofa, which showed its back to the kitchen, so that only the top part of the man was visible.
    “Hi,” Sam said, nonchalantly, “you waiting for my dad?”
    “Yes and no, I’ve been meaning to pop by for a while,” the visitor replied.
    Sam shrugged in an effort to appear indifferent, although he appreciated the company. Because he was polite and believed in hospitality, he offered the visitor a drink and the man accepted a cup of tea. Sam put the kettle on.
    “So,” he attempted conversation, “are you here for business or pleasure?”
    The man smiled. “A bit of both,” he said warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way.”
    “Pleased to meet you. I’m Sam.”
    “Oh yes, I know your name, you’ve been mentioned many a time, in a positive way of course.”
    This surprised Sam, he often felt non-existent and when his father acknowledged his presence, he complained about what Sam chose to do with his time, and his career choices.
    “So young man,” Bill continued, “you’re finishing school soon. What are you going to do after that?”
    Sam found this a difficult question, as he’d become so used to condemnation.
    “I’d love to study music or art at university… express my soul… compose music to move people’s souls.”
    “Well, I think that’s wonderful.”
    “My dad doesn’t. He wants me to be like Ava and be a scientist, or run a business like him, because he thinks I’ll make a lot of money from it. All I want to do is make music.” Sam popped a teabag into an empty cup, poured on the boiling water and stirred it with vigour. “Music is big business, and as worthy a career as stock broking or science, not that anyone takes me seriously.”
    “I’m sure your instincts are correct, you’ll find many of your gut feelings can be safely followed.”
    After pouring in a little milk, he took the cup into the main living area and walked around the sofa. A surreal and gross sight confronted him. Bill sat on the sofa but both his legs were missing below the knee, the wounds bleeding, jagged and raw. It was happening again, the visitors…they always looked so real but they weren’t…they couldn’t be. Sam dropped the cup of tea, the drink splashing everywhere.
    “Sorry to appear like this,” Bill continued, “I needed to get your attention.”
    Sam closed his eyes like he always had done and breathed deeply.
    “You’ve shut us out for too long, Sam. You need to start accepting that we’ll always be around, to be seen and heard. We mean no harm.”
    He opened his eyes, mortified to find Bill still sitting there, although he now had complete legs. Sam grabbed a cloth from the kitchen to clean the tea stain on the floor. As he rubbed, venting his anger, Bill pursued the conversation.
    “You didn’t always ignore us.”
    Sam shrugged, with a surly expression on his face.
    “Well, times change, don’t they?”
    Bill gave him a benign smile, patient of the reluctance Sam demonstrated.
    “Who was your first, how shall I say, spirit visitor?”
    Sam finished rubbing the stain and set the cloth to one side.
    “An old lady.”
    “And she stayed with you for a while, didn’t she?”
    Sam exhaled sharply in frustration.
    “Do you think I really appreciated visitors dropping by my bedroom each night with… their brains hanging out, or their arms missing, or their wasted, diseased bodies to scare the shit out of me? I was a child, for God’s sake.”
    “And a gifted child at that,” Bill added.
    Sam reached out for his guitar, which was close by and he tuned it with finesse in the matter of a minute.
    “What do you want from me?” he asked.               
    “I want to help you. You need a father figure, someone