Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Haunted house and dead tree on an upper arm
Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo
A large tattoo shows a tall, dark Victorian house with a turret, lit window and boarded lower floors, set under heavy storm clouds. Bare, twisting branches with reddish shading run down the right side, and a street lamp sits at the lower edge. The shading is smooth and detailed in grey and black, with faint red wash on the branches and clouds.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The house on Carrow Lane had been empty since the Ashdown girls went off to Canada, and everyone on the street agreed it was a sin to let a building like that rot. Its turret still stood over the rooftops like a finger raised for silence, and the boards on the ground floor had been nailed up so long the nails had gone orange. Dorothy Pell said the sound of it creaking in a north wind carried all the way to the bus stop. I told her the wind was the only thing living there.
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I took the key from the estate agent's box on a Thursday, the week the storm clouds came down over the river and stayed. The front door swelled and gave. Inside, the stairs turned round the turret in a slow spiral, and at the top the lamp from the street came up through a single window like a pale coin laid on the floorboards. I stood in it a long while, waiting for something to tell me to go. Nothing did. The house only ticked, the way a cooling kettle does.
The dead elm at the back had a crooked branch that scraped the glass every time the gale turned. I counted the scrapes. Nine, then nine again, then a tenth I didn't hear so much as feel through my palm pressed to the sill. Downstairs, the lamp outside flickered, and a man's shadow crossed the pavement, stopped under it, and looked up at my window with my own face.
I went down to meet him. He was waiting at the gate, holding the Ashdown girls' old key, and he said, quite politely, that I was late.
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