Small black and grey fine line tattoo of a pale-faced hooded spirit with a soft shaded black body, placed on the outside of an ankle.

Small hooded spirit tattoo on ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a pale, faceless hooded figure with two minimal dot eyes and a solid black body that fades softly at the base. The linework is fine and clean on the head, while the black body is shaded with a soft, smudged edge. The ink is black only, set against pale skin with a dark blurred background and bare feet visible behind the ankle.

Fine line Ankle Spirit Hooded figure Small tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The shade came up the cliff path the same week the Hallam boy drowned, though nobody at Scarrow Point ever tied the two together out loud. Maud Pelling saw it first from the gallery rail, a tall smudge of black in the fog, its base dissolving into the wet grass as though it had no feet to speak of. It did not have a face either. Where a face should be there was only a smooth pale oval, like a plate scraped clean.

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She had kept the light for ten years by then, her father's lungs having given out in the winter. She didn't run. She went down to the kitchen, cut two heels from yesterday's loaf and set them on the step. The shade stood there until the bread was gone, then it followed her up the spiral stairs, step after step with no sound, and sat on the lamp housing while she wound the clockwork that turned the lens.

Through that autumn it came every night. It never spoke. When the gales hit, it stood against the glass where the spray struck hardest, and the lamp did not flicker once. Maud began to leave out more than bread: a cup of cocoa, the last of the mutton, a folded note with the names of the boats she could still count coming home. Two small dots of an eye would turn toward each name.

On the night the Tessa Bray failed to answer her lamp, Maud climbed the stairs alone and found the shade already at the rail, leaning out into the dark. She reached for the switch, then stopped, because the figure had turned its blank head towards her and, quite plainly, shook it. So she kept the light burning and waited, and at first grey light the Tessa Bray came round the point under her own sail, low in the water and alive. Nobody aboard ever knew who had been keeping watch.