Creepypastas

You Look Like My Son

My eyes are in a feverous affair with the clock, and my focus is none the wiser. The police dispatcher is pleading for me to humor her inquiries, if for no reason other than to keep my consciousness afloat. It is so late, and today has been so challenging. Nevertheless, I'll gratify her with my story, because I am really in no mood to tell it again later.

Mariam Cliffington happened into our photo center again today. These visits are becoming relentless, as are the innumerable poorly Photoshopped images on her SanDisk flash drive. Every day it's the same process. She perches at our photo Kiosk, orders small batches of 5×7 and 4×6 photos, and crones over the photo printer as it squeals its mechanical protests. The unfortunate photo specialist on duty is then scolded by dear old Mariam, as "the color in my son's face is coming out too pale" and "my granddaughter's dress looks much too washed out" becomes as recitable as the Lord's Prayer. The project is then gifted to me, as I am the only one who receives her limited mercy. This is due in part because I am the only one in the store qualified as a professional photo editor.

I also look just like her son.

At least that's what she tells me every time she swoons over the photos I correct. I personally never saw the extreme resemblance. We have similar, Hollywood-esque hairstyles, dark stubble, light eyes, and a fair complexion, but that is where the similarities end. Well, that is my general assumption. Truthfully, I have never met him. According to Mariam, they don't get along so well these days. Reportedly, her son has become what she calls a "changed person" after he split with his wife. That always seemed odd to me, because nearly every day I am draining the red out of a new family photo that she zealously adds in her novice Photoshop sessions. It seems the family often stays in touch.

Today, we discussed more personal topics, such as my college degree and her family get togethers. She told me she was celebrating her granddaughter Gracie's fifth birthday today, and was putting together a photo album and baked goodies to send her. Today's photos were of the girl from her previous birthday. She had straw blonde hair, her father's bright blue eyes, rosy red cheeks, and a devilish grin that strongly reminded me of the girl from the movie Problem Child 2. When the topic turned to me being a graduate in multimedia design, she immediately began to give me the shakedown on my talents as a web developer.

She wanted me to build her a forum-based website just for her family. She wasn't fond of the public limelight social media granted, but wanted regular updates from her son, granddaughter, their prized show horses, and images from all the reunions they have over the years.

I'm not a fan of Mariam. She may treat me in a more humane manner than my colleagues, but she is always so bitter. She carries an air of importance about her that mismatches who she is, like a pug in a sweater made of silk. The last thing I want from a client is a beady pair of eyes reflected behind ancient, dark rimmed tortoiseshell glasses, critiquing my every line of code with ignorant words laced with the smell of stale coffee and menthol cigarettes. Her gray-black hair was often wild and tangled, as if she was fleeing her home every morning to develop photos which contained the cure for Cancer.

Despite her lack of self-management, she saw herself as an expert in managing the talents of others. I never inquired about the specifics of her family problems, but I assumed this attitude must cause the bulk of it. This sense of entitlement is something I don't blend well with.

After endless barrages of questions about my rates, schedule, and ability to tutor her in Photoshop, I gave her my business card and told her to call me in a few weeks. Truthfully, I'm in my two week leave period and on my way to a better job, and this was a simple method to evade her until I would never have to see her again. She seemed content with my proposal and took my card. I told her to forward my congratulations to her granddaughter on her 5 year milestone.