The Tattoo

[Published in Terror Tales #1]


I find it difficult to fathom the exact reason I acquired the tattoo, my mind becomes utterly blank when I strive to recollect the occasion. I wasn't in a state of intoxication, neither was I overcome with great joy and happiness, so what precisely urged me to do it I cannot comprehend. However, that was not my main worry, not by far. The thing that irked me more than anything else was the fact that my tattoo was the only one incapable of magically coming to life.
My girlfriend Lucinda possessed a tattoo of a butterfly on her lower forearm, mere inches above her wrist, and this mystical design was able to break free and fly around in the air with the utmost abandon. Many times I witnessed the winged insect enjoying its freedom, transforming into a genuine member of the butterfly species like a weird apparition, and I simply marvelled at such a wonderful and mysterious sight. The world is so filled with horror and wickedness of all natures that to observe Lucinda's butterfly in all its splendour was quite magnificent and remarkable.
"Does your butterfly come to life when it wants to or do you control it?" I asked her one day as we strolled through the park near to where we reside.
"I control it most of the time, but on occasions it just leaps from my arm by itself, mostly when I'm asleep or not wholly conscious, like when I'm daydreaming, for example."
This intrigued me enormously, yet even then I was loath to visit the tattoo parlour, and indeed it would be some time before I decided to obtain my own macabre entity. I was aware that Lucinda's butterfly was not the only tattoo with that certain unique trait, for I knew at least two further persons with similar designs upon their skin. A student taking a science degree at our local university possessed the image of a large snake which covered almost the entirety of his back, and many was the time he stripped off his shirt to reveal the impressive decoration. An open-mouthed throng would stand by in astonishment as the snake slithered from his body and began to slowly slide along the floor, hissing and thrusting its tongue and peering at everyone with its piercing eyes. A female acquaintance of mine also displayed a tattoo of a red rose above her right breast, not a living creature I know, but she was able to reach into her dress and produce that very rose in all its finery, like a stage magician or an amateur conjuror, a feat that everyone found most amusing and enchanting.
So it happened this way; one humid summer afternoon I accompanied Lucinda to Silas's tattoo parlour, as she wished to enquire about some body piercing she was considering. The heat was relentless, and the both of us were relieved when we were compelled to venture into the shadows of a seedy alley, where the tattoo establishment could only be discovered after a thorough search. Upon entering by way of a sturdy oak doorway I was instantly confronted by the odour of incense and ancient parchment. We stood in a tiny room, barely larger than an average kitchen, and the place was filled with cupboards, shelves and bookcases containing a varied collection of accoutrements.
Then Silas himself emerged from within a smoke-filled mist, as if he had just materialised like an unearthly spectre. He was a coloured gentleman of some age, his bald dome shining as the sun's rays entered through a small window which supplied the only light in the room. His eyes were unnaturally evil, and they appeared so cold that I believed his tears would appear as icicles. At once I felt a disturbing unease in his presence and promised myself not to return to the place in any haste.
As he and Lucinda discussed her requirements I spotted a catalogue which lay facing upwards upon a musky-smelling bureau, and my curiosity did not hold back. Immediately I recognised it as containing a selection of designs for skin markings; snakes, skulls, attractive females in various states of undress, and the like. As I mentioned earlier, my mind is unable to recall the strange reason I succumbed to the temptation of acquiring a tattoo that afternoon, it was as though I were being hypnotised or someone was casting a weird spell over me. The moment I spied the picture of a tiger upon the page before me I was overcome with a grotesque desire to bear that particular design upon my skin. It was in a leaping position, apparently in the act of pouncing on its prey, and was displaying its viciously sharp teeth which appeared uncannily gruesome. I was impressed with the majesty of the image, and the colouring was amazingly realistic, the creature's yellow-brown coat with the striking black stripes.
"Are you all right, Nathan?" Lucinda enquired, awaking me from my daydream. I then noticed that she was demonstrating her butterfly's ability to leave her body, its garish wings flapping around in the gloom of the parlour. Silas was smiling, a hellish smile that I guessed was not of this earth, a haunting smile that would guarantee to destroy all my dreams and transform them into distressing nightmares.
"You seem to be most taken by one of my designs," said Silas. "Am I correct?"
His voice was of a bestial nature, his words emanating from deep within his throat, emerging as sinister mutterings in the form of a guttural growling, and from his accent I detected he was of West Indian origin. I nodded, and as I pointed out the tiger I felt myself shaking uncontrollably with a morbid fear.
The details of the agreement seem rather hazy to me now, I possess no recollection of the proceedings at all. I remember the commencement of the operation, with Silas exhaling a series of warm spicy-smelling breaths as he transferred the image of the tiger to the skin on my left shoulder. I dared not to witness what was taking place, instead turning my gaze away from the old man, staring at the wall shelves which were filled with aged and dilapidated books containing such subjects as witchcraft and the occult. Then I watched a pair of gaudy wings reattach themselves to Lucinda's forearm, settling back easily into their previous position on her pigmented skin. Curiously I suffered no pain during the application of the tattoo, quashing the rumours I had heard concerning the apparent discomfort experienced from the procedure.
"There you are; finished," said Silas.
I observed the fresh marking on my shoulder, and was immediately overwhelmed by a violent shuddering sensation as I realised the implication of what had just occurred. The feline figure on my person, snarling savagely and bearing its frightful teeth, and before long it would come to life before my very eyes. Needless to say I couldn't wait for the initial transformation!
During the weeks that followed I was filled with an alarming perplexity which I had never previously had the misfortune to experience. The reason for this bewilderment was the fact that however hard I tried my tiger just would not materialise into a living breathing creature of the jungle. Lucinda patiently and diligently instructed me in the difficult art of summoning life into the tattoo, and I must admit to suffering horrendous migraines due to the severe mental strain of my endeavours. Alternatively I found myself dozing in the heat of those summer afternoons in the hope that the tiger would spring from my shoulder of its own accord during my subconscious state, recalling Lucinda's detailed accounts of such occurrences taking place. However, I was disconcerted yet again, for my success rate was nil, and I began to contemplate more drastic measures in order to instil life into the fierce creature that seemed to occupy every moment of my existence.
"There's something wrong here," I remarked to Lucinda as I observed her butterfly once again soaring above us in the cloudless sky. "No matter how hard I try my tiger just won't appear."
"That's strange; Silas's customers always have the ability to give life to their tattoos, so your case is quite unique. The only thing you can do is go back to him and explain what's happening, or rather what isn't happening."
She was right; and so it was with trepidation that I returned to the parlour, for I felt an abject dread sweep over me when I considered revisiting the place. My heart was thumping violently as I came face to face with Silas for the second time, and I was so pleased that my beloved Lucinda offered to accompany me, for the old man was truly the most haunting and unnerving character I had ever encountered. His sombre demeanour frightened me tremendously, and even in the wretched humidity of his tiny room the coldness of his devilish eyes caused me to shiver openly.
"I've come about my tattoo," I said with a shaking voice, lifting my shirt sleeve to reveal the tigerish form upon my shoulder. "It won't come to life."
Summer shadows covered most of Silas's face, but his eyes were unnaturally evident in the midst of the gloom. "What makes you think your tattoo came with such a guarantee?"
This I had never before considered; why indeed should I possess the ability to transform the tiger in the first place? After all, it was not explained during my previous visit to the establishment, in fact my sole knowledge of the procedure stemmed from Lucinda's stories and my own witnessing of events involving such as the snake and the red rose. The macabre fellow's words left me speechless and even more confused.
"You are right to wonder," said Silas, almost as if he were reading my thoughts. "The fact is, I regarded you as an untrue believer. You are correct, my creations do normally have the licence to seek freedom from their hosts, but only if I believe the customer worthy. I detected no such worthiness in you, I'm afraid."
His words perturbed me to say the least, and I felt cheated and disgusted, a wild anger forming inside me, urging me to challenge the fellow, even though his very presence was both terrifying and intimidating.
"I demand that my tiger come to life!" I shouted, aware that my voice and my whole demeanour had become quite delirious.
Silas then delivered his customary wicked smile, and at that moment I knew my very existence was threatened, and that some agonising horror would occur at some time in the near future, a horror so enormous that I would never recover from its ferocity.
"Your wish is granted," said Silas, his voice almost inhuman, his gaze sufficient to destroy every dream I cared to enjoy. "Before the next dawn your tiger will appear in all its glory. But let me warn you; the consequences will be there for you to suffer."
I was hesitant about feeling relieved and happy about the situation, for the old man's words were delivered with a certain darkness, and the warning hung above me like the sharpest of swords, threatening to impale my soul and abolish all my hopes and desires. With this in mind I departed from the tattoo parlour, vowing never to set foot in there again.

To begin with I slept contentedly that night following an episode of torrid and passionate love-making with Lucinda, and I had the good fortune to experience pleasant and delightful dreams. However, after a while those dreams changed to chilling nightmares, containing ghastly images of unparalleled horror, and I swear that I was able to subconsciously detect a terrible transformation occurring, a metamorphosis that seemed more physical than spiritual. Needless to say the rest of the night I spent in restless foreboding, in a state of half-awakeness, convinced that a certain evil was lurking somewhere around me, or even somewhere inside me.
When the next morning arrived I discovered that my newly-acquired claws were tearing into my lover's flesh, and I was feasting with a hungry relish, aggressively chewing and gnawing with teeth so huge and powerful that I truly believed they could only belong to some bizarre monster, ripping chunks of meat from Lucinda's bloodied remains, as the butterfly fluttered above us.