Black ink drawing of a hand whose fingers and knuckles are replaced by eyeballs, with dripping lines below, shown as a tattoo design rather than on skin.

Hand of eyeballs with dripping lines

Black and grey · Flash

A pen drawing of a hand with several eyeballs forming its knuckles and fingers, with one fingertip-eye at the far left and another at the right. Fine hatched linework shades the fingers, veins and eyeball irises, and long dripping strands fall from the base of the hand. The image is black ink on white paper with no colour.

Eye Hand Finger Vein

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nell Marrow had been told to count the eyes twice a night, because Mr Ambrose Keel said the Hand was only as good as its stock. Fourteen glass eyes lay in velvet trays under the caravan lamp, each the colour of weak tea or pond water, and each, she had decided in her first week with the fair, watching her. Keel laughed when she said so.

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The Hand itself was carved from walnut and strung with wire, its knuckles studded with the glass. The board outside said it had belonged to a sea captain who lost his sight in a storm and had his fingers made to see for him. Nell thought that was a story told by men who sold chances at a penny. What she knew for certain was that the eyes had come from a glassblower's widow in Hull, and that the widow had written twice asking for them back.

On the last night of the Michaelmas fair the rain came sideways across the field and the generator gave up with a cough. In the dark she heard the trays rattle. When the lamp caught again, one tray sat empty and the Hand's index finger had lifted, slowly, as though it were pointing at the flap of the tent where the crowd pressed in to see the show.

She took the lamp and went out into the mud. A boy in a striped jumper stood at the counter, one palm cupped over his pocket. 'It's mine,' he said, though he had never been near the stall before that evening. Nell held out her hand. 'Then give it back before the rain takes it off you.' He did, and the eye was cold and faintly wet, its iris still swirling with the shine of the lamp. She carried it inside and set it in its socket, and when she counted the trays again there were fourteen, and the last one was warm.