“Come on dude, you have to get a tattoo! Who would think you’re a rad dude without one, John?” exclaimed Ralph.
“You’re right. I’ll find a cheap shop before the party!” John replied confidently.
John was an ordinary high school boy who had just been invited to a party by the coolest, most popular guy of all—Chris. He had to seem cool for the party; otherwise, he’d be made fun of. The simple solution? Get a tattoo. But suddenly, a problem arose.
“No way, son! It’s stupid, unhealthy, expensive, and besides, you don’t even know the guy,” his dad argued.
“Listen to your father, sweetie, he’s right. This is for your own good,” added his mom.
“But, but, no! You don’t understand! I hate you! Ugh!” John screamed as he bolted upstairs to his room. “I don’t need their money or permission! I can get my own tattoo with my birthday money!” he thought to himself as he dug around his room. He managed to scrape together only ten dollars.
“No, you need at least fifty to get a decent tattoo. Well, I can’t just sit around. I’ll find a shop!” he whispered as he tiptoed downstairs, sneaking through the creaky front door and out into the night.
He walked through the bustling streets, with cars zooming by, the air full of petrol fumes and smoke. After some time, he found a dark, narrow alley. It was damp, with puddles lining the path. The air reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Rats scurried through the murky water. Finally, he spotted a rusty, old tattoo shop.
John stepped inside and found a dimly lit, ordinary interior with a single man sitting on a worn-out sofa.
“Hey, can I get a tattoo done here? I only have ten dollars, though,” he asked nervously.
“No problem. Come sit here and close your eyes,” the man said, oddly cheerful.
“Wow, but why didn’t he ask for my ID or—oh, whatever!” John thought. He closed his eyes, and within seconds, it was done. It was a dragon tattoo. He handed over the money and skipped home happily.
“The tattoo is amazing! Even though it’s only on my wrist, it’s so cool. The party’s going to be sick!” he thought as he excitedly went to sleep.
The next morning, John woke up and glanced at his wrist to admire the tattoo. But something was off—it seemed bigger. Confused, he went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The tattoo had grown so much that it now covered half his body… and it was staring at him.
“AHH!” he screamed in terror as the tattoo grew before his very eyes.
“I’ve got to tell Mom!” he panicked.
“Oh no, you don’t, brat,” the dragon on the tattoo suddenly spoke.
As John tried to run, the tattoo spread over his face and eyes, and he felt it crawling over his body. Cold and numb, he lost consciousness.
“What’s the matter, dea—wait, where’s John? I could’ve sworn I heard him in here,” his mother mumbled, confused.
As she walked away, a strange black goo slid down the drain, with no sign of John or the tattoo anywhere. No one ever saw John again, nor the eerie tattoo shop.
This was the first incident of the living tattoo. Maybe it was the last… or was it?
By Haffi Wani