Colour tattoo of cartoon characters Shaggy and Scooby-Doo in front of a haunted house on a forearm, with the word ZOINKS lettered along the bottom.

Shaggy and Scooby-Doo with haunted house on forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows the cartoon characters Shaggy and Scooby-Doo, looking startled, in front of a dark haunted house with bats, a crescent moon and a lightning bolt against a red and orange background. The linework is bold and black, with flat, saturated colour fills for the characters and a gradient in the sky. The design is arranged vertically along the forearm, with the word ZOINKS in white outlined lettering across the base.

Forearm Cartoon Moon Bat Lightning Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ghost had eaten the last of the custard creams again, and Mrs Thackeray would not wait for the council to take an interest. She rang the night desk at half eleven and told Alf Pickering to bring a torch and his good sense, in that order. Alf had worked the desk at Harrowgate Lodge for nineteen years and had seen plenty come up the cliff road in the dark, but never a lanky lad in a green jumper and a Great Dane with a spotted coat, who stood in the lobby and said "Zoinks" very quietly, as though it were a prayer.

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The lad introduced himself as Rupert Vane of Vane Investigations, which Alf suspected was a van and a phone. The dog introduced himself by eating a sausage roll off the reception counter. They went up the east stairs with the torch, the dog's tail thumping every second step, and found the sheet on the third-floor landing. It had two eyeholes, a dragging hem and a smell of Brylcreem, and it was moving very slowly towards the linen cupboard. The dog took one look, leapt into Rupert's arms and gave a noise like a kettle being murdered.

The sheet stopped. Then it sighed. Alf had the good sense to step forward and lift it, and under it stood Mrs Thackeray's nephew Desmond, forty-six, in a dressing gown and one wellington boot, clutching a tin of custard creams. He had been living in the linen cupboard since Easter, he said, because his aunt meant to sell the lodge to a hotel chain and he had decided a ghost was the only thing that might frighten her into keeping it.

Rupert looked at the dog. The dog looked at the biscuit tin. Alf put the sheet back over his own arm, folded it neatly and took the custard creams for the desk drawer. "Zoinks," said Rupert, one last time, and for once nobody argued.