I really thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I’d taken every precaution. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t question the guy beforehand, and I warned him that there might be consequences if he hid anything. It’s not my fault he didn’t listen.
People can be idiots.
Now, I’m not absolving myself of all blame here. I guess I could have probed him further when I saw the tattoo that ran down his spine – should have, even. At the time, though, I told myself it was nothing. Not worth ruining my big moment over.
You see, our craft has been passed down through my mother’s family for many, many generations, but the tattoos were mine; the result of all the hard work I put into creating my special ink. I guess the thought of success filled me with a naive sort of confidence…
…But it turned out I wasn’t quite as prepared as I thought I was.
The client was Josh, a twenty-something rugby lad with obnoxiously large muscles that strained under his t-shirt. I honestly don’t know how anyone finds those attractive. Anyway, he’d driven all the way here, he said, because he’d seen my work advertised…
“…On the… you know, the…”
“No, I don’t know,” I lied, my chest constricting with both nervousness and excitement.
“On the… dark web.”
His eyes flashed to the door at the top of the basement stairs, almost as if he expected the police to come bursting in. To be fair, he was pretty much the opposite of someone you’d expect to find browsing the dark net. He looked like a Hollister poster boy.
He gazed at me expectantly, with the nervous yet giddy anticipation of someone who knows they are about to do something they shouldn’t – an expression which reminded me of a wannabe-rebellious teenager partaking in marijuana use for the first time.
“I’m after the special stuff,” he said. “I have the money.”
I got the impression that Josh had never been involved in any sort of illegal activity in his life. Not that what I was going to do was illegal; I’m pretty sure there are no laws covering magical tattoos.
“Just out of interest, how did you find my work?” I asked. I know stereotyping is bad and all, but I just couldn’t believe this guy had found his way to my website by himself. Not my other website, anyway.
“Well… I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo for a while, so my mate shows me your Instagram. You’re kind of far away from where I live but I followed you because I liked your stuff, and then my mate asks me if I’d seen the, uh, other stuff. He told me to get the link from some Reddit page. Seemed kind of sketchy, to be honest. I had to download this whole other browser…”
“And what did you think when you saw the other stuff?” I asked.
“Thought it was a joke at first; not gonna lie. I asked my mate, and he told me he’d seen stuff like that before, so I start looking into it… I still can’t believe this shit actually exists!”
The way he was looking at me, eager as a kid on Christmas morning, did nothing for my nerves. Back then, I’d only ever experimented with my ink on myself and my cousin, and I’d advertised the ‘special’ tattoos exclusively on forums where I was likely to find clients who knew what they were dealing with.
I hadn’t expected to attract someone like Josh.
But now that he’d driven all the way here, I didn’t want to turn him – or his money – away. Not when I could get away with charging more than triple the price of an ordinary tattoo.
But I also didn’t want him to get seriously hurt. Or die. Or, you know, leave a bad review. So, after we’d discussed exactly what he wanted, I asked him the standard questions that any diligent practitioner of witchcraft would ask:
“Have you received any magical services before?”
“Nope.”
“Have you, or a member of your immediate family, had a bad experience with any kind of witchcraft?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Are you aware of any curses on you or your family?”
“Uh, no.”
“Do you have high blood pressure, epilepsy, or any heart conditions?”
“No.”
“Are you of sound mind?”
“Yes.”
“Do you accept that I am not liable should something go horribly wrong..?”
“Uh… Yeah, sure, I guess.”
I know I should have explained what could happen if he wasn’t truthful, but I didn’t want to scare him off. Besides, I very much doubted he’d ever been anywhere near witchcraft before, so I figured he was probably clean. I did at least warn him that it was really in his best interests to give accurate information, because the procedure was ‘not entirely risk-free.’
He laughed and assured me that he was being completely honest. I took his word for it. While he signed the contract I’d printed off (after barely skimming through it), I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and retrieved my freshly sterilized tattoo gun and needles.
(I am a licensed tattoo artist, and I take the risk of infection very seriously.)
“Okay, let’s do this!” he said, removing his t-shirt. As I disinfected the back of his right shoulder blade with a wipe, I took the opportunity to get a good look at his existing tattoos. Most of them were small and fairly typical, but there was one that stuck out…
Twisting all the way down his spine was a thick, hyper-realistic metal chain, covered with intricate lettering that looked convincingly like a real engraving. The letters formed words in a language I didn’t recognise, but something about the sight of them unsettled me. I can’t explain it, but I felt like I was looking at something I shouldn’t be seeing.
Nonetheless, I’d seen much weirder, so I said nothing as I pasted the outline of the new tattoo onto Josh’s shoulder. After checking he was happy to proceed, I then traced the outline with ordinary black tattoo ink – this normal ink would contain my ‘special’ ink to the confines of the tattoo, so it wouldn’t spread over the skin.
And then it was time for the main event.
“This might feel more… tingly… than your previous tattoos,” I warned Josh. “Your skin may go numb for a while.”
The needle was almost touching his skin when he suddenly tensed up.
“How many times have you done this?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“I’ve tested it plenty of times on myself,” I said truthfully. “And a few times on volunteers, too.”
(Well… One volunteer.)
“Nothing bad has happened yet.”
“Yet?”
“It’s very, very unlikely that anything will go wrong,” I assured him.
“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine. Carry on.”
I should probably explain exactly what I was trying to tattoo on Josh’s shoulder – it was the face of a tiger, about the size of my hand, intended to symbolise both beauty and strength. You see, Josh had been modelling part-time since he was a teenager, but he was still chasing his big break. Had everything gone smoothly, the tattoo should have resulted in people admiring his looks, hopefully leading to a photoshoot for a mid-range clothing brand.
(I can’t perform miracles, so I do tell people to manage their expectations…)
The design of the tattoo can be pretty much anything; it only has to be symbolic to the customer. I actually suggested a peacock feather at first, but I suspect that wasn’t masculine enough for Josh because he turned his nose up. Still, a tiger was a great choice, and I was very excited to see how it would turn out. It’s a shame it didn’t go to plan.
The needle finally made contact with skin, and the vibrant orange ink began to spread between the black lines. Josh flinched ever-so-slightly.
“Fuck,” he said. “That is tingly.”
“Won’t be too long now,” I said, and we were both silent for the next few minutes as I continued. The tiger seemed to come to life in front of me, as if my hand was a conduit and some other force was dictating the image that appeared on the fleshy canvas.
By the time it was finished, the knot in my chest had loosened considerably. If something was going to go wrong, it surely would have done so by now. I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned back to watch the tiger open its mouth and bare its bright white teeth.
“Perfect,” I said, thrilled at what an excellent addition the tiger would make to my portfolio.
“It’s done, then?” asked Josh, twisting his neck in an effort to glimpse the tattoo. As he sat up and flexed his shoulder, the tiger slowly yawned, its yellow eyes screwing closed.
Unfortunately, I never got as far as wrapping the tattoo up.
I had only just turned my back on Josh when I heard a sharp intake of breath. This being the first time I’d inked an experimental tattoo onto a paying customer’s skin, that one gasp was enough to transform my nervousness into full-blown panic.
I whirled back around to ask Josh if he was alright – but I saw the answer written on his face before I could even speak. He was leaning on the chair, his brow furrowed in pain, lips trembling and breath coming in short, agonised gasps. His chest was arched forward as if he was trying to lean away from something – as if something was touching his back.
I threw down the tattoo gun, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around - his skin had suddenly become hot under my fingers. He let out a small yelp of pain as I touched him, quickly stifled by the gritting of his teeth.
“It’s burning,” he hissed.
“Oh shit,” I said when I saw his back. I guess that probably wasn’t the best thing to say to someone who feels like they’re on fire, but it was the first thought that came into my head.
Remember how Josh had a metal chain covered in words tattooed down his spine? And how he told me he’d never encountered witchcraft before? Yeah, well it turned out that was a gigantic lie. The skin around the chain tattoo was starting to bubble and blister as if something was burning it; red, raw patches of flesh were exposed as flakes of skin curled and peeled away.
My mind went blank. I’d always thought I’d know what to do if something went wrong, but now something had gone very wrong and all I could do was stare.
As I stood frozen, Josh’s gasps of pain grew rapidly louder, though he was still doing his best to stifle them; his eyes watered as he tried not to scream, while drops of sweat began to form on his neck and forehead.
“Okay,” I said, unsuccessfully attempting to keep the rising panic out of my voice.
I sprinted to my supply cabinet and pulled out everything that could be used for healing magic, then I snatched up my phone and dialled my aunt’s number.
I think Josh and I both knew that calling an ambulance would be useless.
I dropped the ringing phone onto the table and began applying my mother’s ointment to Josh’s burns – but the treatment only seemed to accelerate the burning. The flesh darkened and singed with a sizzle like that of meat in a frying pan, and Josh finally released an overdue howl of pain.
I knew then that the magic contained within the chain tattoo was something I had never encountered before; unfortunately, I didn’t exactly have time to look it up.
I tried all the healing remedies I could think of while I waited desperately for my aunt to pick up the bloody phone, praying she wasn’t in one of her mindfulness sessions. But nothing was working, and my aunt still hadn’t answered after five attempts at calling, and the blackened, burned patches of flesh were expanding worryingly fast across Josh’s back.
When the rival stenches of pus and burning skin began fighting for dominance of my nostrils, I finally conceded that I was out of options.
Mentally pleading that he would cooperate without question, I swung my arm around Josh’s pulsating, sweaty shoulder and pulled him towards the stairs. Now, I’m not the biggest or strongest woman, so it’s fair to say that it was a struggle climbing out of the basement supporting a guy built for rugby, especially since he was gasping in pain and sweating onto me the whole time. At least he was able to hold himself up, just about.
“We have to go,” I said. “I know someone who can help.”
With some effort and groaning, we reached the top, and he let me steer him down the narrow hallway and out the front door. The street was empty, thank goodness.
Josh awkwardly clambered into my car, hunching forward so his burned flesh wouldn’t touch the back of the seat, and through gasping breaths he asked, “how far away is your help?”
“Not far. Not even a ten-minute drive,” I said, slamming the door shut and practically leaping into the driver’s seat. I got us moving as quickly as my shaking hands would allow and weaved faster than was probably safe through the narrow streets, and we emerged from the town and out onto country roads in probable record time.
“We’re nearly there,” I said, firmly telling my panic-stricken mind that we were going to make it -
- and then Josh let out his loudest screech yet.
I was so startled that I jumped out of my seat and very nearly missed a bend in the road, and we would have gone flying straight into a bush if I hadn’t yanked the steering wheel just in time.
Once I’d recovered, I dared to glance in the rear-view mirror. Josh had been thrown halfway off the back seat by the sudden turn, allowing me to glimpse the exposed curve of his back; the flesh was shiny and red and wet, most of the top layers of skin now peeled away. His large muscles only made the sight appear more grotesque, like a lumpy mound of misshapen flesh.
Yet – somehow – two of his tattoos remained, as vibrant as they had been before the burning started: the tiger and the chain…
…The chain, which was no longer a mere drawing. I thought for a moment that my eyes must be deceiving me, until I looked back in the mirror and saw it again…
There was an actual, tangible metal chain rising out of Josh’s flesh. The thing was slick with blood and who-knows-what other bodily fluids as it emerged like an alligator from muddy water, engraved words glowing red, accompanied by wisps of smoke and Josh’s primal screams of agony. The heat and the smell became so unbearable that I was very glad for the button that opened all the car’s windows.
I knew there was nothing I could do except drive. Feeling the sweat starting to gather on my own forehead, I sped along the country lanes so fast that we would have been in trouble if a tractor or truck had appeared from around a bend, but I wasn’t really thinking about that. I was mostly just thinking ‘oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh shit fuck fuck.’
At least Josh’s screams meant he was still conscious; I would have been even more concerned if he had gone quiet. I risked another glance in the mirror, but that only made my heart sink further. The chain was… growing. Link after metal link emerged from Josh’s flesh, burning red and hissing with smoke - and snaking towards the tiger on his shoulder. The tiger reacted, shaking its orange head and silently growling as the burning chain encircled it, pushing through the gooey remains of skin like a knife through butter and wrapping itself around and around until the tiger was no longer visible. When it was done, a stream of orange-tinted blood ran underneath the chain.
I naively hoped that would be the end of it, that whoever had inked the cursed tattoo on Josh only meant to destroy their competitor’s work. But the chain did not stop there. It was still growing, unwinding itself from the destroyed tiger tattoo and moving upwards – towards Josh’s throat.
With another jolt of panic, I realised what was going to happen next.
Just as I feared, the chain began to twist itself around Josh’s neck. His fingers clawed weakly at the hot metal, his cries becoming more frantic, but he didn’t have nearly enough strength left to halt its progress.
My mind was whirring with terrified thoughts of this stranger dying a horrible death in my car, but I was almost certain my aunt could save him, and we were so close; just one final stretch of road to go. So I put my foot to the floor and prayed to the gods that we’d get there fast enough.
And there, finally, was the driveway, and up ahead the farmhouse appeared like an oasis. I lurched forward in my seat as the car came to a hasty stop, tyres skidding on the gravel.
Breathing like I’d run a marathon, I unclipped my seatbelt with shaking fingers and tumbled out of the smoky car, yelling for my Aunt Gwen. She must have heard us approaching because she was already rushing over, pale blonde hair flying behind her.
“Eleri? What’s happened?” she called out.
When she reached the car and took in the sight of Josh, the concern on her face turned first to horror, then exasperation, and finally settled on grim determination.
“You weren’t answering your phone. I think he’s been cursed,” I said. Those were the only words I managed to get out.
“Help me get him inside,” my aunt said. She showed no emotion as we half-carried, half-dragged Josh through the house and laid him on his stomach on the kitchen table. His screams had been replaced by a horrible wheezing sound as the chain tightened its grip around his throat.
Now that Josh was in my aunt’s hands, all the adrenaline I’d used to get him there seemed to seep out of me at once. Feeling like I was crashing back to Earth, I could only watch helplessly while my aunt silently got to work.
“I’m sorry,” I said, tears threatening behind my eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. He said he’d never used magic before.”
My aunt shook her head. “This isn’t your fault.”
I watched as she began pouring strange substances into her blender; something that looked like sand but glowed white; something else that looked like jet-black thorns dripping with a tar-like liquid.
My aunt pulled out her special knife from a drawer. It was pale silver and covered in engraved symbols, some of which I had yet to learn the meaning of. She held it out and looked at me apologetically.
“Give me your hand.”
I tried not to cry as she sliced into the side of my left hand, but the stinging pain finally brought forth the tears that were already gathering in my eyes. My aunt flicked several drops of my blood into the blender – the blood of the person who had triggered the curse – and the blender’s roar drowned out all other sounds.
Josh was now unconscious, those horrible wheezes growing quieter and further apart as his body struggled to breathe. He didn’t have much time left.
My aunt, calm as ever, stopped the blender and dipped her knife into the mixture, twisting it around until the blade was fully coated in black liquid. Then she cut into the chain around Josh’s neck; the metal links disintegrated as if they had been dipped in acid, causing the rest of the chain to fall to the floor with a clatter. To my relief, Josh’s body sucked in a loud, long breath… And then another.
My aunt cut where the end of the chain was buried in Josh’s skin and pulled until the whole thing was out. I couldn’t help but squirm as the slimy metal came free from his flesh with an unpleasant squelch.
Once the chain was removed, my aunt poured the rest of the blended mixture over Josh’s back. It seeped into the skin, cooling the burned flesh and sealing the open wounds, after which my aunt was satisfied that the curse was dealt with. I felt like crying with relief. Afterwards, we were able to treat the burns with our usual healing remedies, but there wasn’t much we could do about the inevitable scarring – both physical and mental.
To be fair, Josh was very apologetic when he woke up. He admitted that he’d previously visited another artist offering tattoos that were similar to mine, except the guy turned out to be seriously shady. After tattooing Josh, this rogue artist warned him there would be consequences if he went elsewhere for any future tattoos. However, when Josh realised the chain tattoo wasn’t working, he didn’t go back to that first artist because he now suspected he was being scammed… Of course, he came to me instead.
I’m not even mad at him; he seemed to have learned his lesson. I think he was just relieved to be alive. Even so, my aunt gave him a stern lecture, before turning her attention to me. She wasn’t angry, but she did make me promise not to try anything like that again until I was able to spot the signs of a curse and deal with it myself. In return, she promised not to tell my mother what had happened.
As for the rogue tattoo artist – he seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. His tattoo shop had closed and there was no trace of him online. Josh could only give us a name – which was clearly fake – and a description of a middle-aged man with long dark hair and a beard, wearing a black leather trench coat. Judging by the décor Josh recalled in his shop, he apparently had a thing for snakes.
Unsurprisingly, I was left incredibly shaken by the knowledge that this guy had almost made me complicit in a murder, so I had no trouble fulfilling my promise to my aunt. I stuck to regular tattoos until I thought I was ready to try a ‘special’ one again.
I’d like to think I wouldn’t make those same mistakes now. I think I learned my lesson too. When I eventually started offering my ‘special’ tattoos again, I included a new rule. I’ve had to add a few more rules since, but this one is still Number One:
Do NOT use my services without consulting me first if you are cursed, think you might be cursed, or have simply had a bad experience with another practitioner of witchcraft. Seriously - YOU COULD DIE.
It’s one of the reasons why I decided to make this post; unfortunately, there are some awful people out there who prey on those who don’t know any better. I’ve sadly come across more of them over the years.
So, if you’re thinking about using witchcraft to solve your problems, or just for fun – be careful. Be wary of who you’re dealing with. Remember that Josh got lucky… You might not.