Black and grey tattoo across a man's upper back and shoulder showing a hockey mask, a bladed glove, a doll face, chains and a knife, in a realistic collage style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Horror film collage across back and shoulder

Realism · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A man's upper back and left shoulder carry a large black and grey collage of horror film characters, including a hockey mask, a clawed glove with blades, a doll's face on the upper arm and a knife at the top. Chains, dripping ink and scraps of quoted text fill the gaps between the figures, with soft grey smoke shading behind. The image is a close, slightly angled view with the tattoo filling most of the frame against a dark background.

Realism Back Shoulder Upper arm Knife Chain Smoke

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The returns slot in the shutter of Video Palace had jammed in April, so every night Mick Kersey pushed the day's tapes through the gap with a broom handle and hoped nobody asked what the customers had left behind. Tonight there was one tape without a sleeve, its label reading only RETURN TO SENDER in marker that had bled into the plastic. He turned it over. The spine was warm.

Keep reading

He took it to the back room, where the old rewinder hummed under a strip light. The counter read 00:00 and the tape began to crawl. A hockey-masked figure walked a tiled corridor, a bladed glove dragging along the wall, and a doll's face swam up at the edge of the frame, grinning as if it knew him. Mick knew the film. Everyone in Hull had rented it at fifteen and lied about being scared.

A chain rattled through the speakers in the empty shop. He told himself it was the heating pipes. Then the picture froze on a close shot of a knife at the top of a stairwell, and a line of plain white text rolled across the bottom of the screen: LEAVE THE LIGHT ON, MICK. He had never written his name on anything in this shop. He had never told anyone the sleeve was missing.

He reached for the plug, but the rewinder had already gone quiet, and the chain sound had started again behind the shutter, slow, climbing toward the slot. Then something knocked three times on the metal, politely, the way a customer does when they want their money back.