Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a carved jack-o'-lantern with curling vines and the words Halloween Forever arched around it on a forearm.

Jack-o'-lantern with Halloween Forever lettering

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A carved jack-o'-lantern with a glowing orange body, yellow highlights and blue-tinged eye and mouth shading sits at the centre of the design, with thin curling vines rising from its stalk. Bold black outlines define the pumpkin and the two-line lettering, with HALLOWEEN arched above and FOREVER curving below. The tattoo is shown on the inner forearm against a dark, blurred background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pumpkins came off the Pengelly lorry on the last Tuesday of October, forty of them, rolling down the ramp onto the quay like cannonballs. My father counted them twice and swore at the third count, because one had split in transit and was oozing towards the drain. He carved it anyway. He never threw away anything that could be saved.

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Every year he cut the same face into the biggest one: two triangle eyes, a grin full of jagged teeth, the stalk left on like a bent hat. He lit it with a tealight and set it on the harbour wall facing the mouth of the bay, because his own father had said a lit face on the wall would bring the boats home through fog. Nobody in Porthleven believed that except my father, and nobody argued, because the fog came every autumn and the boats always came home regardless.

The year I left for Bristol I was nineteen and too grand to stand on the quay and watch him do it. I rang on the first of November. He said the lantern had blown out in a squall, so he'd relit it with matches from the lighthouse keeper, and that every boat was in, the sea flat as a dinner plate. Then he asked whether I'd remembered my gloves.

At Christmas the face was still on the wall, a grey husk with the grin gone soft and furred with green. Beside it, painted on a slate in his square capitals, was a line I didn't recognise until he told me it was a joke we'd shared when I was small: HALLOWEEN FOREVER. He said the slate had been up since the first week of November, and the tealight was still in its dish, unburnt, waiting for the next year.

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