Realistic sugar skull tattoo with painted flowers, a red cross and a red stethoscope on the side of the ribs.

Sugar skull with stethoscope on the ribs

Realism · Ribs · Mixed · Photo

A sugar skull with a floral crown, decorated with pink flowers, a red cross and a heart, sits on the side of the torso. The skull is shaded in grey and black with fine detail around the eye sockets and teeth, while the flowers and feathers are in bright colour. A red stethoscope with a grey chest piece wraps around the lower part of the design against plain skin.

Realism Ribs Sugar skull Skull Flower Heart Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had closed the pass by mid-afternoon, and the Hollin Fell inn had nine guests and one doctor, which was the only reason Mrs Gaskell let the old tale of the dead woman's room go unmentioned. My mother kept the book of guests and I kept the fire, and when the lamps guttered at four I went up to check on Dr Arkwright, who had asked for a candle and no supper.

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He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his stethoscope looped over his shoulder like a rosary. Pinned to the sill was a paper skull, the kind the village children make for November, its cheeks painted with pink petals and a tin cross stuck to its forehead. "My sister made it," he said, before I could ask. "Every year she insisted the dead came back for the hot chocolate and the marigolds. I told her they came back for the cough syrup." He laughed, and it was a dry, tired sound.

Outside, the wind pushed snow against the shutters like a crowd wanting to be let in. Through the night he listened to the chest of a wool merchant with a bad lung, and to the stationmaster's boy with the fever, tapping and holding the cold disc to their ribs until his fingers went blue. Near dawn the merchant's breathing eased. The doctor came down with his coat over his arm and asked me for the chalk. On the slate by the door he wrote a name I did not know, drew a small flower beside it, and then a cross.

When the road opened on the third morning, the skull was still on the sill. I did not throw it out. I left it where he had put it, face turned to the window, because in our part of the Dales the snow takes what it wants and gives back what it can, and some of us had learnt to say thank you to both.