My Boss’s Strange Reaction to Sarah’s Drawing

I walked into his office, expecting the usual lecture, but he was just standing there, staring intently at the crayon drawing. It was Sarah’s, the one of our cat with the rainbow tail that I put on the fridge last night when she was asleep. He was holding it so carefully, like it was fragile glass.

The air conditioning was blasting, making the small room unnaturally cold, and the silence stretched until it felt thick and heavy around us. He finally looked up, eyes unnervingly bright and empty, the smile fixed on his face unwavering. “Where exactly do you live?” he asked, his voice soft but sharp, still holding the crumpled paper delicately. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in my chest, wanting to beat its way out.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I managed, voice trembling despite myself, taking a step back towards the door. “Why do you have her picture? Where did you get it?” He just tilted his head slightly, that slow, chilling smile widening as he smoothed out the drawing with his thumb, never breaking eye contact. The smell of stale coffee and his weirdly sweet cologne filled the suffocating air.

Before I could demand an answer, a phone on his desk suddenly vibrated, buzzing loudly in the oppressive quiet, startling me. My blood ran ice cold seeing the name flash on the screen, big and clear. It was my daughter’s school’s main number. Calling *his* phone.

He slowly reached for the buzzing phone, the smile still there, and whispered, “She likes the cat drawing, too.”

👇 Full story continued in the comments…He snatched the buzzing phone, the smile never leaving his face. “Yes?” His voice, still unsettlingly soft, held a peculiar cadence as he listened for a moment. The sound of the school’s name, St. Augustine’s, sharp and clear even through the receiver, sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. I could only stand frozen, every nerve ending screaming, watching his impassive face.

“Yes, this is Mr. Thompson,” he confirmed, his gaze flicking to me for a fraction of a second before returning to the drawing. “Yes, about the art submission… Oh?” His smile seemed to falter for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of… surprise? Or maybe annoyance. It was hard to tell. “She is?… I see.”

He sighed, a low, drawn-out sound that did nothing to ease the tension. “No, no, I have the drawing right here. It arrived this morning… A rainbow cat, yes, quite distinctive.” He finally lowered the paper slightly, his hand hovering over it. “Look, Ms. Evans… I understand. Tell her… tell her I was just about to make sure it was put up. There was a small mix-up with the delivery manifest, and I was verifying the artist.”

He paused, listening again, his expression turning from mildly irritated to genuinely concerned. “Upset, you say? Crying?” He glanced at me, a different kind of intensity in his eyes now, one that was less predatory and more… flustered. “No, of course, we don’t want that. Tell her… tell her Mr. Thompson thinks her cat is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. And I will ensure it’s in the main display this afternoon. Perhaps even… perhaps I’ll personally make sure it’s in a prominent spot.”

He was silent for another moment, nodding slowly. “Yes, thank you for calling, Ms. Evans. I’ll handle it from here.” He hung up the phone, the silence rushing back in, thick and heavy as before, but changed somehow. The air felt less suffocating, though still cold.

The fixed smile was gone. He looked… lost. He held the drawing like it was suddenly a hot potato. “That was the school,” he said, his voice back to its usual, slightly weary tone, devoid of the earlier, terrifying softness. “Sarah… your daughter. Apparently, she’s quite distressed because her drawing wasn’t immediately put up in the community art display.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly bewildered. “We get dozens of submissions from the local schools for the annual office-sponsored display. They arrived this morning. I was just… going through them. Hers stood out. It’s very… vibrant.” He gestured awkwardly with the drawing. “I noticed the name was the same as yours, but it’s a common name, I didn’t connect it immediately. I was just trying to figure out who to contact to confirm the artist because of the delivery error. I thought maybe calling you… or finding your address to send a note… would be the quickest way to clarify so I could get it put up.”

He looked at me, the earlier vacant stare replaced by a look of profound social awkwardness. “And the school called because they knew I was processing the submissions and Sarah was upset. They knew I had it.” He sighed again, a sound of pure exasperation. “I… I handled that terribly. I apologize. I didn’t mean to… I’m not good with… explaining things like this. Especially under pressure.” He finally extended the drawing back to me, his hand slightly trembling. “Here. Please. Take it back to Sarah. Tell her Mr. Thompson is sorry for the delay and that her rainbow cat will be pride of place. Tell her… tell her I thought it was so good, I couldn’t stop looking at it.”

The fear was slowly receding, leaving a vast, trembling emptiness in its wake. My boss, the source of my terror, wasn’t a monster or a stalker. He was just… incredibly, unbelievably socially inept, a man who had caused a full-blown panic attack in his employee over a child’s art submission and a logistical mix-up, all while trying to figure out how to prevent a child from being upset. The “She likes the cat drawing, too” wasn’t a threat; maybe he meant another student involved in the display, or maybe he was trying to say the daughter liked it and he did too. His chilling smile wasn’t sinister; it was just his weird, unsettling way of processing information or perhaps an attempt at being encouraging that landed horribly wrong. I took the drawing from his hand, my fingers brushing his, the paper now feeling like just crumpled paper again. The air was still cold, filled with the lingering smell of coffee and his strange cologne, but the heavy dread had lifted, replaced by a shaky, stunned disbelief. My boss wasn’t a threat. He was just… weird. And I needed a very strong drink.