Fine line black outline tattoo of a pumpkin-shaped carriage with swirls and dotted drops on the side of the ribs, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pumpkin carriage outline on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A black outline of a pumpkin-shaped carriage with ornate scrolls at the wheels and a dotted line with teardrop ends trailing from the back. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the design is in black ink only. It sits on the side of the ribs, and a hand rests on the upper edge of the frame against a dark top.

Fine line Ribs Pumpkin Swirl Dotted line Teardrop Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Snow had closed the pass for three days when the carriage came down the hill to the Hollin Inn. Nobody there had seen anything like it. It was round as a harvest pumpkin, the colour gone to old brass, and it rode on wheels worked over with curls like the ends of a fern. Marta Hollin came to the door with a lamp. The coachman wore no coat and asked for a bed for one night and a hot mash for the horses, which were not horses but six grey hares that sat up on their hind legs and waited.

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Marta gave them the loft above the stable and went back to the kitchen. Her son Piet, who was nine and had been told not to climb the rafters, climbed them anyway to see the carriage through the high window. He came down pale and said the inside was lined with dust and the seat was empty, though the coachman had been counting something on his fingers and kept getting to twelve and starting again.

Just before midnight the hares began to thump their feet. The coachman came down, stood by the fire, and said the carriage had to be on the road before the bell struck one. Marta gave him bread, salt and her last candle. He thanked her and left a single seed in the ash of the hearth, then said that if anyone followed the trail it would lead them home.

In the morning the snow in the yard was marked with small dark drops in a line that ran past the gate, over the wall and out toward the frozen orchard. Piet followed it with a stick. At the far end, under the bare apple trees, a pumpkin vine had pushed up through the frost, heavy with fruit, and the last dark drop lay against its stalk. Marta never saw the carriage again, but every winter after she left the gate unbarred, and the orchard gave a crop no one could explain.