Black and grey line drawing flash of a UFO, bees, flowers, an FBI badge, a cigarette packet, a mobile phone and a banner reading Mulder, it's me.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

UFO, bees and FBI badge flash with banner

Traditional · Black and grey · Flash

A black line drawing design showing a flying saucer beaming down over a bottle, with bees and flowers around the edge. Below sit an FBI identification card, a cigarette packet labelled Morley and an old mobile phone, with a ribbon banner across the bottom. The bold, even outlines are uncoloured and the composition is centred with the elements arranged around the phone.

Traditional Ufo Bee Flower Banner Bottle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The phone had been buzzing in the glovebox of Dot Pargeter's hatchback for three days before she thought to look at it. It was a grey brick she had bought at a car boot sale in Swindon for a pound, mostly because it fitted her coat pocket, and the only message it had ever received was a loyalty offer from the supermarket. Now the screen showed no caller ID and read, in capitals, MULDER, IT'S ME. She assumed it was the lad from the petrol station, who had a habit of pranks.

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"Who's Mulder?" she said, when she answered. The voice on the other end was thin and eager, like a radio tuned between stations. "Dot, you have to stop the swarm. They're not bees, they're listening." She looked down the lane to the allotments, where her hives stood open and the bees were pouring out in a shimmering column that stood straight up into the dusk before bending towards the reservoir. Above the water hung a pale saucer, silent, its light falling on the old pump house, which had always looked to her like a milk bottle.

"I'm not Mulder," she said. "I'm sixty-eight and I've got a Victoria sponge in the oven."

"Then who do you think sold you the phone?" The line went dead. She sat at the kitchen table for a long time with the cake smell filling the room. Then she opened the drawer where Frank's cigarettes had sat unopened since his funeral, took out a packet, and lit one on the gas hob. It tasted of nothing at all. She dialled the number back and waited, and out on the drive, through the open window, the glovebox began to ring.