Realism tattoo of a screaming woman with blood on her face, gripping a bloody blade, on a lower leg.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Screaming woman with bloody blade on a calf

Realism · Calf · Mixed · Photo

A shaded portrait of a woman with her mouth open in a scream, her hair falling around her face and blood streaked across her forehead and cheek. She grips a long blade that runs diagonally down the left side of the design, with red blood dripping from it. The face and skin tones are rendered in soft browns and greys with smooth gradients, while the blood provides the only strong red accents against a dark background.

Realism Calf Woman Face Blood Knife Portrait Hair

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, our Jack, the fire's near out and I'll not tell this twice with the lamp gone. You'll have heard them say Nell Ashworth was mad. She was not mad. She was the only one at Dunmere Pit who could hear the cage wire sing before it stuck, and on the night of the flood in eighteen eighty-nine she heard it sing wrong.

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Her father had given her his old cutting knife for the bread and nothing else, and she carried it everywhere, tucked in her apron like a hen's egg. When the cage jammed with eleven men on it, she ran to the winding house and found the rope frayed to a thread. She took the knife to the tangle of wire herself. It bit into her palm and split the skin open, and she did not stop cutting until the drum turned free.

Then the men below were climbing, and they were climbing blind, because the lamps had all gone out in the water. So Nell stood at the shaft head and screamed. Not a lady's scream, mind. A scream like a thing being torn in half. Her mouth was wide open and her hair was stuck to her cheek with rain and her own blood, and the sound went down the shaft like a bell. Every man came up towards it.

They say the shaft still carries that scream when the wind is from the east, and that's why nobody in Dunmere has ever bolted a window on a Tuesday. Her knife hangs above your great-grandfather's mantel. Look at the edge. It has never been wiped clean, and nobody's ever been brave enough to try.