Line drawing of a skull styled as a stormtrooper helmet, shaded with black hatching and red and cream tones on a plain grey background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Skull in a stormtrooper helmet design

Mixed · Flash

A front-facing drawing of a skull whose jaw and cheek areas are shaped like a stormtrooper helmet, with a visor-like ridge, side vents and round breathing filters at the bottom. The linework is sketchy and loose, with dense black hatching in the eye sockets and under the brow, and the bone is filled in pale cream. Red shading along the teeth, eye sockets and jaw adds the only strong colour against the grey background.

Skull Teeth Fangs

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The night signalman at Coldharbour Junction was a quiet man called Ambrose Tull, who had come down from the north with a tin trunk and a white helmet he would not take off, not even for tea. The porters said he had breathed bad air in the war and the filters on the helmet clicked each time he drew a breath. Nobody asked more. He kept the lamps trimmed and the points oiled, and the 2.15 went through on time for eleven years.

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Then in the autumn the bell began to ring at quarter past two for a train that was not on the timetable. It rang from the Hallow Cutting, where the tunnel mouth gapes like a hungry dog's jaw. Tull took his lamp and walked down the line each time. He came back grey around the edges and would only say that something in the dark was counting the sleepers, and that it had reached the number of men who had left the junction.

In November he did not come back. The porters found his lamp on the sleepers at the tunnel mouth, still lit, and the helmet sitting on the waiting room bench with its filters turning slow. Mrs Pryce, who sold pies from the hatch, said the dead keep watch wherever the living have been careless with a promise, and she would not touch the thing. The station master put it in the lost property cupboard under a label that read: Signalman, collect when required.

The bell still rings at quarter past two. Nobody goes down to the cutting now. The lamp is trimmed each evening by an unseen hand, and when the porters lock up they hear a soft click from the cupboard, like someone drawing breath before they say good night.