Black and grey realism tattoo of a scarecrow with a carved pumpkin head and leafy vines on the calf, shown from two angles.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Scarecrow with pumpkin head on a calf

Realism · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a scarecrow with a glowing carved pumpkin head, wearing a plaid patterned shirt and a ragged coat, with a vine and leaves rising up the leg from the bottom of the design. The linework is soft and the shading is detailed, with strong highlights and deep shadows giving the figure volume. Two photographs side by side show the same tattoo on a lower leg against a plain background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The scarecrow came down the Hollin path on the night the toll bar was painted, its boots squelching and its pumpkin head throwing a light so yellow that Ada Pryce could read the ledger by it from the doorway.

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Nobody in either parish would admit to making it. The farmer on the English side swore he had stood it in the bean rows in September, and the Welsh shepherd across the bank swore he had seen it pacing the wall at dusk, one straw hand on the stones and the other buried in the pocket of its checked shirt. Ada had her own view. Every harvest it walked the length of the boundary wall and stopped at the stile where the two counties met, and every harvest it stood there with its ragged coat tails lifting in the wind, looking back over its shoulder at its own field as if it had left something behind.

This year she went out with a tin of matches and a cold pasty wrapped in greaseproof. The thing did not turn its head. A vine ran from its heels across the slate and up the wall, leaves shining wet, and where the vine crossed the stile someone had tied a length of red wool. 'You can't cross with nothing to show for it,' she said, and felt foolish saying it aloud. The pumpkin flickered. It lifted one hand and set something on the stone step: a seed, big as a thumbnail, already split and sprouting.

By morning the vine had climbed the toll gate and the pasty tin was gone. Ada planted the seed in the lee of the cottage, where the frost would not reach, and told the lads who came for their tickets that the crop was spoken for.

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