Black and grey realism tattoo of the No-Face spirit from Spirited Away on a person's upper arm, with small Japanese characters beside it.

No-Face from Spirited Away on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows the white masked face of the No-Face spirit with a dark hooded body, with small black dots and marks suggesting hands holding small objects. The shading is smooth and soft, with dark tones fading into the skin at the bottom edge. The image is a close, dimly lit side view of the upper arm and shoulder, with a tank top visible, and the subject's face is cropped out apart from the lips and chin.

Realism Upper arm Mask Spirit

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bread started going missing on the third night out of Leith, and Alf Pennock, who had baked for the Corrievale for twenty-two years, took it personally.

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He caught the thief at four in the morning, sitting on the flour crate beside the range. It wore a long robe the colour of wet slate and a face as pale as a peeled egg, with two black slits for eyes and a small dark mouth that never moved. It did not look up when he switched on the bulb. It only held out one grey hand, palm open, and waited, the way a customer waits at a counter.

Alf had nothing to offer but the loaf under his arm, so he cut it and passed it over. The figure ate slowly, sweeping crumbs into its sleeve, and where it had touched the table a little gold lay in the grain, nuggets bright as cooked yolk. Alf pocketed one. By morning it had gone to a pale stone that the mate swore was ballast. The thing came back the next night, and the next, and each time it left a little less gold and took a little more bread, and Alf found he could not bring himself to scrub the crate.

By the time the Corrievale raised the Tyne, the crew were dropping coins into the flour bin on purpose. Nobody aboard could say what the creature was, only that the hands ate well and the bread never ran short. Alf still bakes an extra loaf every night and sets it on the crate. On the mornings it is gone, there is always a small dark bead of gold in the flour, and he has never once asked for it back.