Colour cartoon tattoo on a forearm showing Scooby-Doo and Shaggy in front of a haunted house under an orange sky, with ZOINKS lettering below.

Scooby-Doo and Shaggy with haunted house

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows the cartoon characters Shaggy and Scooby-Doo, looking alarmed, in front of a dark haunted house silhouette with bats and a glowing moon against an orange and red sky. The linework is bold and dark, with flat cartoon colour in yellow, green, brown and orange. The word ZOINKS in outlined graffiti-style lettering sits along the bottom of the design, and the tattoo runs down the forearm.

Neo-trad Forearm Bat Moon Cartoon Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves down, and mind the lamp, because I'll not tell this twice. Up above Dunmere pit, past the slag heaps, there's a manor the coal company built for its managers and then were too frightened to live in. Three crooked chimneys, a roof like a bent hat, and bats that come out at dusk to watch the shift walk home.

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Young Harold Penny had a dog called Bramble, big as a pony and soft as a cushion, and a habit of talking himself into things. In the spring of the strike, when the colliers had nothing to do but drink and gossip, he swore on his mother's Bible that he'd sit a night in the manor parlour and prove the ghost was a lie. Bramble went with him, because Bramble went wherever there was a pie crust to be had.

Near midnight the moon hung over the chimneys like a coin on a string, and the front door swung open by itself, which Harold later swore was the wind. Something came down the stairs, long and white and dragging a chain. Harold said, 'Zoinks,' the way his nan said grace, and Bramble had his collar in her teeth before he'd finished the word. They ran the length of the valley with the bats pelting after them, and the thing kept chasing until the dawn whistle went at the pit.

When the sun came up, the manor was only a manor. Harold maintains the chain was a length of pit rope and the white thing was Mr Gribble, the company clerk, sleepwalking with a sack of stolen coal dust for his pig pens. Bramble never said otherwise. She just sits by the pithead gate each evening now, ears up, watching the hill and waiting for the next fool to come along.