Colour neo-traditional tattoo of three Daleks tearing through skin across a woman's upper back, with a black and grey circular gear emblem on her shoulder.

Daleks breaking through skin on upper back

Neo-trad · Back · Colour · Photo

Three Daleks in blue, orange and red are shown mid-emergence, with ragged torn-skin edges and splashes of red around them. The outlines are bold and the metal surfaces use strong highlights and dark shading. Colour dominates the design, set against a black background with the subject's back and head turned away from the camera.

Neo-trad Back Shoulder Dalek Torn skin Splatter

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Every night shift at St Aldred's had a story about the wall behind ward C, but Dennis Fell, the night porter, was the only one who had seen it open. It happened in February, when the pipes went quiet at three and the whole building seemed to hold its breath. First came a crack in the plaster in the shape of a cog. Then a hand of tin, then a blue dome as big as a laundry basket, shouldering out through the paint.

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Three of them came through, blue, orange and red, their plungers twitching over the lino. They spoke in the flat voice every child in the county knew from the telly, and they wanted the brass key that hung on the old mortuary door. Dennis had it in his pocket, because he had always been the sort who kept things. He held it up. The orange one rolled closer, its dome scraping the ceiling tiles, and Dennis remembered his gran saying that tin things cannot abide being asked nicely.

So he asked them what the key was for. The red one said it opened the way back. Dennis told them the way back was through the lift, which had been out of order since Christmas, and the only road down was the stairs, which were long and cold and full of fire doors. The three of them argued in their clipped voices, then rolled off one after another down the corridor, leaving the key and a gouged line in the lino behind them.

Ruth found him at dawn, sitting on a trolley with the key in his fist. The plaster behind him had closed over as if nothing had happened, except for one thin red seam drying on the wall, and the little brass cog shining above the mortuary door.