Black and grey realism tattoo of a horror character in a fedora with a bladed glove, on the upper arm.

Horror character portrait with bladed glove

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A realistic portrait of a horror character wearing a wide-brimmed fedora, with a scarred, grinning face and a metal bladed glove reaching across the lower left of the design. The shading is smooth and highly detailed, with strong contrast in the hat and the textured skin. The composition is tightly framed on the figure, with bold dark stripes sweeping across the background on the right.

Realism Upper arm Portrait Claw Face

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You missed the turn for Dry Tallow before the sun dropped, so the petrol station at the crossroads is the only light for forty miles, and the man behind the counter has already decided you will be staying the night. He hands over the key to room seven without asking your name. The hat on the hook above him is wide and black and sits too neatly for a man who lives alone out here.

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The motel runs along the road in a single low row, every door painted the same tired green. Room seven smells of cold coffee and rust. Someone has scratched four long grooves into the plaster above the bed, the way a cat would mark a sofa, and you tell yourself the wind did it. The radio on the nightstand finds only one station, a preacher reading out the names of towns that are not on your map.

Near two in the morning the grooves are wet. You can see that much by the red glow from the sign outside, which keeps humming its one word over and over. Something taps the window glass with a sound like a fingernail drawn across a comb. You do not look at the glass. You look at the mirror above the basin, and in it a face leans out of the dark behind your shoulder, grinning with too many teeth, its skin cracked as a dry lakebed.

The morning is bright and clean, and the man at the counter does not look up. He takes your money and says room seven has had no guest in eleven years. Out past the pumps the road runs straight into the heat, and behind the car four long shadows keep pace across the dust, though nothing in the car casts one.