Fine line black tattoo of two simple cartoon figures, one round-headed and one taller, placed behind a person's ear beside a plug earring.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two small cartoon figures behind the ear

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close-up photograph of a small black tattoo behind a person's ear, showing two simple cartoon figures standing side by side. The figures are drawn with thin, even black outlines and no shading, with a smaller round-headed figure on the left and a taller figure on the right. The ear and a plug earring fill the left of the frame, with dark hair at the right edge, and the warm tones give the photo a filtered look.

Fine line Other Character Line drawing Minimal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift to the fourth floor stuck at ten past three, the way it always did when rain got into the cable housing, and I was the only porter on the rota who knew how to coax it. I had my torch and my toolbox and my mug of tea gone cold on the trolley, and I was halfway through cursing the buttons when I heard the knocking. It came from the linen cupboard by the stairwell, three soft taps, then a pause, then three more.

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I opened the door expecting a dropped trolley wheel or a mouse. Instead there were two of them, pale as candle wax and no taller than the folded gowns on the shelf. One was round-headed and small, standing at the elbow of the other, which was taller and thinner and held its arms straight down at its sides as if it had been told to wait. Neither of them had a face I could properly make out, only the suggestion of one. The small one tugged the tall one's sleeve and pointed up the stairs.

I followed them, mostly because I didn't want to be left alone with the lift. On the ward, the lights were low and the only noise was the hiss of the oxygen line in bed fourteen, where Mrs Dunmore was murmuring about her husband's coat. He'd been dead eleven years. The tall figure stopped at the foot of her bed and waited. The small one looked back at me, then at the locker. I took out the navy coat that had been sitting there since January, shook it out and laid it over her feet. Her hand moved in her sleep, and she stopped talking.

In the morning the lift worked perfectly, and the linen cupboard held nothing but gowns. On the shelf, though, someone had drawn two small figures in pencil on the back of a laundry docket. I've kept it tucked in the handover book. Now, on nights, I leave the cupboard door open an inch, the way you would for someone small who doesn't like the dark.