Black and grey full sleeve tattoo of a haunted house, bats, a full moon and skeletal figures across the shoulder and arm, shown from three angles.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Haunted house and graveyard full sleeve

Realism · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A full sleeve tattoo shown from three angles, covering the shoulder down to the wrist. It depicts a haunted house under a full moon with bats and lightning, a bare tree, gravestones and two skeletal figures, one a hooded reaper, with soft clouded shading. The work is rendered in black and grey with smooth gradients and fine detail in the tree and figures, set against a dark background with the wearer's face not shown.

Realism Shoulder Upper arm Forearm Full moon Bat Lightning Skeleton Grim reaper Graveyard Bare tree Cloud Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The carrier's cart stopped at the lych gate because the mare would go no further, and Ezra Pell would not take the lane up to Greave House in the dark for any shilling. Mrs Thorne climbed down with her ledger under one arm and her lantern in the other hand. Above the chapel roof the moon came up round and yellow as a pewter plate, and every window of the big house on the hill was lit, though the Greaves had been buried these twenty years.

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She went in among the stones. Her husband's name was cut into the third row, and beside it lay a fresh slab with no name on it at all. Bats poured from the yew in a long black ribbon. A hooded figure leaned on a spade by the wall, and when it lifted one bony hand it did so the way a man greets a neighbour across a hedge.

"You are early," it said. "The book is not yet closed on the house." She asked what it wanted, though she knew. She had brought the ledger because she was a careful woman who had never once in forty years let a debt lie unpaid. She opened it at the last page. Every entry was in her own hand, dated each Michaelmas since she was a girl, and the final line was blank, waiting for a sum.

Mrs Thorne took the pencil from behind her ear and wrote her husband's name in the blank space, then her own beneath it. The figure nodded, satisfied, and went back to its digging. Lightning cracked over Greave House, and when the flash was gone every window had gone dark. She walked down the hill with the ledger shut against her chest, past the cart and the sulking mare, and she did not once look back at the fresh stone, because a careful woman knows a settled account when she sees one.