Black and grey tattoo of a grim reaper in a hooded robe dancing hand in hand with a girl in a dotted dress, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Grim reaper dancing with a girl

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a hooded grim reaper with a skull face and a scythe raised in one hand, holding the hand of a girl with a long plait who wears a dotted dress. The figures are outlined and shaded in soft greys, with the reaper's robe rendered in deep, heavy tones against the lighter dress. The design sits alone on the skin with plenty of space around it, and the background shows a window blind.

Forearm Grim reaper Skeleton Girl Scythe Dress Hood

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tuesday, 14th October. Tied up below Hatton Lock with the cabin stove smoking because the flue has cracked again, and Dad asleep in his chair with his cap over his eyes. There was a dance at the Navigation Inn last night, the first since the war ended. I went in my blue dotted frock with my plait pinned up the way Mam used to do it. Nobody asked me. I stood by the urn with a lemonade and watched the fiddlers.

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Then the room went cold at the back door, the way it does when someone opens it and the canal breath comes in. A tall figure in a long grey hood stood there with its hands in its sleeves. Nobody could see its face properly, only the bone of it under the cowl, white as a lock gate. Mrs Pritchard dropped a glass. The fiddler never stopped. The figure crossed the boards and held out one hand, long fingers, while the other arm lifted something that caught the lamplight. I thought it was a scythe, though it might have been a boathook.

I took the hand. What else would you do? It was dry as paper, and it swung me round the floor so fast my feet barely touched the boards. Every time the fiddle slowed, it laughed, a noise like a sluice drawing. When the tune ended it bowed and walked me back to the urn. Next time, it said, and went out into the fog.

Tonight the cabin is warm. Dad says I was dreaming. There is chalk dust on my heel where the boards were wet, and the lemonade is still on the table, untouched.