Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a horned, furry monster in a red and white striped top, holding a small crowned figure, on the outer thigh.

Horned monster with a crowned figure on thigh

Neo-trad · Other · Colour · Photo

A horned, furry monster with large yellow eyes, a wide toothy grin and clawed feet stands with a striped red and white top and a long tail. A small crowned figure with a sceptre is perched on its shoulder. Bold dark outlines and soft grey shading give the monster form, while yellow, red and white provide the colour, and the design fills the thigh from top to bottom.

Neo-trad Other Monster Crown Stripe Horn Claw Tail

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves nearer the fire, the lot of you, and mind the cat, she's been sulking since the boats came in. Now. You'll have heard how the beast came up out of the peat hags above Skerrinmoor the winter the herring failed. Horns like a ram's, claws like a gannet's, a grin that could strip the paint off a dory. Nobody on this island slept sound that winter, and nobody went out past the dyke after dark.

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The beast had no name then, only the one the women gave it, which I'll not say in front of the bairns. It sat on the roof of the meal store and ate the thatch. It stole the nets off the drying poles and wore them like a shawl. Then one wet morning a boy called Tam Corrie walked up the hill with a tin lid on his head, painted gold with his grandmother's saucepan paint, and a brass lamp-stick held up like a sceptre.

Now Tam was no hero. He was seven and his boots were too big. But he stood in front of that monster and said, in the voice his father used on the herring buyers, 'You are my beast now, and this is my island, and you will mind the gulls.'

The beast looked at him a long while. Then it laughed, and the sound rolled down the hill like a cart full of stones, and it knelt, and Tam climbed onto its shoulder as easy as a man mounting a pony. Every spring after, the beast wore the striped jersey Tam's mother knitted from red and white wool, and the gulls never again touched a catch. Some say the beast is still up in the hags. I say, if you go up there at dusk, you'll see the lamp-stick glinting, and you'll hear a small voice giving orders, and a deep voice answering yes, king. Now, the fire's low, so off to your beds.