Black and grey Fine line tattoo of a witch's broom with bristles, a binding and a shaded handle, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Witch's broom on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A witch's broom is tattooed on pale skin, with the bristles fanning out to the left and the handle running diagonally to the right. The bristles are drawn with fine, wavy black lines and grey shading, and the binding is outlined with a few small strokes. The handle uses soft grey shading to suggest its wood grain, and the tattoo is centred on a plain, lightly lit background.

Fine line Forearm

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had got into the lambing shed again, and Mags Treloar stood in the doorway with her breath hanging in front of her, watching the broom lean against the wall where her grandmother had left it. Nobody in the valley swept with a witch's broom any more. The bristles were grey and split, bound at the neck with twine that had been replaced so many times the knot had a life of its own.

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Her brother Tom said the thing was bad luck in a house with a newborn. Her father said nothing, which was worse. He had sold the top field in October to pay the bank, the lambs were coming in the wrong order, and every morning he found another thing he could not fix. Mags had not been asked to fix anything. She picked up the broom anyway.

It did not fly. She had not expected it to. It swept the straw into tidy lines across the cobbles, and when she reached the far wall the bristles hissed against the stones the way a kettle does before it sings. The handle was warm under her palm, grained like old ash and darker where a century of hands had rested.

Behind her the ewe groaned. Mags stopped sweeping. She set the broom down carefully, the way you set down something that might still be listening, and knelt in the straw. The lamb came in a rush of steam, slick and wrong-footed, and she held it up to the lantern as her grandmother had taught her, rubbing until it coughed. Her father appeared at the door with his hat in his hands. He did not come in. He only looked at the broom, then at her, and nodded once.