Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a pink planchette with the word YES, an eye, a gold crescent moon and purple clouds, on the calf.

Planchette with eye and crescent moon on a leg

Neo-trad · Calf · Colour · Photo

A pink planchette shape outlined in black and dotted with white beads sits at the centre, with the word YES in a blue-and-white oval above a large eye with a highlight. Gold scrollwork, a gold crescent moon, purple clouds and small sparkles surround it. Bold black outlines and smooth colour blends give it a bright, graphic finish.

Neo-trad Calf Eye Moon Crescent moon Cloud Scrollwork Sparkle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nell held two fingers on the planchette until the wood warmed under them, which the pump in the scullery never managed. The candle guttered in its saucer. Beyond the glass the Hollin headgear stood black against a sky the colour of wet slate, and the whistle that should have sounded at seven had not sounded at all.

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"Ask it proper," her mother said from the chair by the range. "Don't go soft on it."

So Nell asked. Is Tom living? The pointer stirred, slid across the painted board in its slow, sure way, and stopped on the blue oval above the eye. YES. Her mother made a sound like a kettle left too long and reached across the table. Two hands on the wood now, pushing the same way, and the pointer carried them past the gold curls to the eye itself, that great pale stare somebody had painted with such care. There it stayed, as though it had been waiting for the question.

Then Nell asked the thing she had been holding in her mouth since the deputy came up the lane. Will he come up? Yes. Yes. Yes. The word came faster each time until the card rattled, and her mother said stop it, Nell, stop, and Nell understood that the board had only the one word, the way the manager's notices had only the one word, the way every man who had ever sent a boy down had only ever said yes. She took her hands away. The planchette rocked and went still over the eye. Above the heap the crescent moon hung like a gold hook, and a lamp came bobbing up the lane, swinging low, the way a man swings a lamp when he carries nothing heavier than himself.