Halloween sleeve with pumpkins and a scarecrow
Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo
A full arm sleeve with a Halloween theme. Carved jack-o'-lanterns glow in a pile beside a pale haunted house and a ghost, while a scarecrow in a wide-brimmed hat and a cluster of corn cobs with a maple leaf fill the lower section. The rendering uses soft shading and blended colour, with bright oranges, purples, greens and blues against the skin tone.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The scarecrow came down off the Hollis field the night the harvest dance was held in the old grange, because the fiddler had sent word that he was owed a turn. Nobody had called him by name in forty years. The Corey boys had nailed him to his cross-pole in spring, dressed him in their grandfather's coat and a hat that had once been black, and the crows had long since stopped bothering to argue with him. He walked the lane with straw in his boots and a cob of corn tucked under one arm, nodding to anyone who looked.
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Pumpkins sat along the gateposts with their faces lit from inside by candle ends, grinning at the road. Ghosts from the big house on the hill drifted down and pressed their pale faces to the hall windows. Mrs Pryce, who kept the door, let the cold in on purpose. 'The dead pay in cider or they don't come in,' she said, and she meant it kindly, mostly.
Nell Harker, the miller's daughter, had been promised to the fiddler's cousin, but she danced with the scarecrow all the same. He was light as a sack of chaff and smelled of cut stubble. Round the floor they turned, past the carved faces and the pale ghosts, until the clock on the wall stood at twelve. He stopped mid-step, took off his hat, and pressed a maple leaf into her palm, red as a lantern. 'Keep that. It is the only colour anyone ever gave me.'
Nell woke late with the fiddle still in her ears and walked up to the Hollis field with her shawl over her head. The pole was bare. Beside the gatepost lay a neat heap of corn cobs, their husks folded back like a bride's sleeves, and on top of them sat the crooked black hat. She left it where it lay and went home with the leaf in her pocket. The gatepost has never once been bare since.
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