Black and grey tattoo of a crouching wolf with its tail raised, on the upper back near the shoulder blade.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crouching wolf on upper back

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A crouching wolf with its head lowered and tail raised is tattooed on the upper back, close to the shoulder blade. The linework is soft and the fur is built up with dark grey shading and black areas, giving the animal a textured, three-dimensional look. The ink is entirely black and grey, and the wolf sits centrally on the skin against a plain background, with the straps of a top crossing the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift at Calder House had been broken since Easter, so we took the stairs, twenty-two floors of them, and by the fifteenth landing you learned to stop talking. That was when the wolf came up from the car park, or so Mrs Okafor on nine swore. She said it had eyes like bus headlamps. Tomasz from eleven said it was just a lurcher gone feral off the railway, but he said that with his hands jammed in his pockets and his voice too high.

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I didn't believe any of it until the Sunday my brother Ryan went down to the bins with a carrier bag of chicken skin and came back up white. He'd found it crouched by the wheelie bins, head lowered, tail lifted stiff over its back, not running, just waiting. "It was looking at me like I owed it money," he said. The next night I went down alone with a tin of pilchards and my heart going like a drum.

It didn't come for the tin. It had its nose in the bin I'd left open, grey ridges of fur rippling like smoke every time it breathed. When I said its name, which I'd made up on the spot and which was Gerald, it froze. Then it lifted its head and looked at me the way Nan looks at a telly that won't work, and let me kneel down close enough to set the tin on the concrete.

When I climbed back up, the stairwell smelt of bleach and somebody's Sunday roast. Ryan was waiting on the fifteenth landing with the torch. "Well?" he said. "It's not dangerous," I told him. "It's just hungry and rude." From the window I watched that tail rise above the bins, one last question mark, before the dark took it. Nobody on Calder House has seen it since, but the tin is always empty in the morning.