Black and grey realism style tattoo of a haunted Victorian house under a full moon with bats and bare trees, on the side of the torso.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Haunted house and full moon on the side

Realism · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A large tattoo of a gothic Victorian house with turrets, dormer windows and a doorway, set against a full moon with bats flying around bare, twisted trees. The linework is fine and the building is heavily shaded in greys to create depth and a sense of night. The image is a side-by-side pair of the same tattoo, shown in black ink and grey tones with no colour.

Realism Ribs Full moon Bat Bare tree Window

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The surveyor's chain was still hooked to the gatepost when the moon cleared the chimneys of Harrowgate House, and Tobias Crane decided he would not go up the drive until the bats had settled. They came off the twisted elms in a loose black skein, circled the east turret three times, and then went in under the eaves as if somebody had called them home.

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Inside, the hall smelled of cold ash and beeswax. The agent's ledger lay open on a card table in the morning room, its last entry in a hand that shrank towards the bottom of the page: Mrs Elspeth Vane, residing. No date of death was given. Tobias had been sent to value the house for the Northern Railway, which wanted the land for a goods yard, and the figures were simple enough. Brick, slate, nine dormers, one deep cellar. Nobody had ever asked what the house was worth to the people still living in it.

He heard the first sash go up on the top floor a little before midnight, then another, the wood knocking in its frame. He counted them as he wrote. Eleven. The moon sat square in the glass of the largest room, and in it a woman stood with a candle, not looking at him but at the ledger on his table, as though waiting for him to finish the sum.

He wrote the figure down honestly: nothing, and the word of a dead woman's tenancy. In the morning the railway's man found the chain lying in the gravel, the surveyor's notebook open at a blank page, and every window of Harrowgate House dark, as though the account had finally been settled.