Traditional flash drawing of a woman with bats swirling through her hair and bold red-rimmed eyes, with lettering reading Bat Shit Crazy beneath her.

Woman with bats in her hair, traditional flash

Traditional · Mixed · Flash

A traditional-style flash drawing of a woman's face, framed by long black hair that flows into bat wings and a small bat perched on her head, with several more bats flying above. Her eyes are drawn as large red and orange eyes with heavy lashes, and red blush sits on her cheeks. Bold black outlines and solid black fills contrast with orange, red and tan tones on a textured paper background, and the words BAT SHIT CRAZY are lettered along the bottom.

Traditional Woman Bat Hair Eye Lettering Flash sheet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bats had been nesting in Maud Terrell's hair since the spring the lifeboat went out and did not come back, and by the second week of March the whole harbour at Skerrow had stopped pretending not to stare. She kept them the way other women kept canaries, one perched on her crown like a brooch, the rest flicking in and out of the black curls as if the hair were a cave they had paid rent on.

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Nobody in the town said it to her face. The vicar's wife said it to the postmistress, who said it to everyone, and by Friday the words had been painted in red capitals across the window of the chip shop, BAT SHIT CRAZY, with a smear of ochre under the K where Maud had been too impatient to wait for it to dry. She only laughed when she saw it. Her eyes, which the children swore glowed orange in lamplight, narrowed at the vicar's wife's pram, and she went back to frying cod.

On the Sunday the wind came round to the north-east and the sea turned the colour of slate. Maud walked down the slipway with her hair streaming and the bats lifting off her like smoke. Rupert went first, low over the grey water, chittering. The others followed in a ragged black fan, and the men on the quay swore they could see the boat's red lamp where the bats circled, though the lamp itself was lost in spray.

They brought the crew in before dark, soaked and grey-faced, and not one of them made a joke about the hair. Maud stood on the wet stones shaking drips from her curls while the bats settled back into place one by one. In the morning she unlocked the shop, took a rag to the window, and left the red letters alone.