Ellen was nearly finished with her third drink when she noticed the man in
black. He was standing by the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd
with a bored expression. The crowd deserved his disdain; for an underground
nightclub, there were certainly a lot of normal-looking people at Shades of
Midnight tonight. Ellen had been on the prowl all night, and had been decidedly
unimpressed with the variety of men she had seen. Until now. She put down
her glass and turned to Tamara, prodding her on the shoulder to get her attention.
“What do you think of that one?” she asked, leaning close so her voice could
be heard over the blast of the music. She pointed through the crowd where
the man was standing
“Oooh, definitely do-able,” Tamara replied, nodding. “And just your type,
too.”
“Who’s this?” Andrew, the third at their table, asked. “Who are we talking
about?”
“The longhair in the corner. Black jacket, black pants,” Tamara replied,
gesturing with her cigarette to the figure Ellen had just pointed out. “Ellen
wants him.”
Ellen put on an mock expression of indignance. “I only pointed him out, I
didn’t say I wanted him.”
“Just your type,” Andrew affirmed, as the man took a long drink from a bottle,
completely oblivious to their observations. “Long hair, black clothes, earrings.
Yup. Ten bucks says you wants him.”
“Ah, but you don’t know if he’s tattooed,” Tamara noted as Ellen opened her
mouth to protest.
“True,” Andrew demurred. “Five bucks.”
“Sucker’s bet,” Tamara said, refusing Andrew’s outstretched hand.
“Cut that out,” Ellen laughed. She had obviously spent far too many nights
in nightclubs with these two; they knew her taste in men all too well. Although
she had to admit her taste was all too predictable; to give Andrew credit,
the mysterious man in black had most of the characteristics she looked for
in fresh meat.
“Well?” Tamara asked, nudging her with her arm. “If you don’t get a move
on, some other sweet young goth thing’ll steal him away from you, and I’ll
have to listen to you bitch all the way home.”
“Wait, the song’s ending,” Ellen protested. “And besides, he sees me. I have
time.”
* * * *
Ellen took her time in approaching the man in black. For almost three songs
she watched him as she had a fourth drink, watched him as he danced a little
bit, danced with the showy air of someone who knows they are being watched.
He had most definitely seen her in the corner, watching him; even though he
was positioned on the dance floor at the opposite corner of the room, he peered
at her through the spaces in the crowd. Ellen felt herself flushing with drink
and with the attention; she loved this game of tease and reply, of hide and
seek.
All the while Tamara and Andrew made fun of her for not getting up from her
chair, but she shushed them. The crowning glory in Andrew’s and Tamara’s evening
came when the man removed his jacket after dancing to a particularly hard
and fast song, revealing his bare chest underneath. Covering the front of
his upper torso, and snaking over his shoulders and around his sides, was
a single, huge, tattoo. Andrew and Tamara practically crowed with glee.
“Ten bucks,” Andrew reiterated his bet. Tamara merely gave him a sarcastic
look.
“What is it of?” Ellen asked, peering through the darkness as the man wove
between the dancers in his own rhythm. “I can’t see clearly from here.”
“Its some sort of monster, I think.” Tamara said. “I can see claws, and….eyes.”
“Its beautiful work,” Andrew commented. Of the three of them, Andrew was
the resident tattoo expert and owner of five of his own. He was on a first
name basis with most of the artists in the city. “I don’t think I’ve seen
so many gradations of purple blended like that before….”
Tamara snorted. “Leave it to Andrew to provide a running commentary on the
artistic qualities of punker tattoos.”
“Oh, its ok,” Ellen said, relishing the chance for the teasing to turn to
someone other than herself. “You know how Andrew gets sometimes –”
“Holy shit.” Andrew abruptly said, sitting upright in the chair. Tamara and
Ellen turned to face him. “What?” Andrew’s gaze was riveted upon the tattoo.
“Thats a Mark Killock. I’d swear it, its his work.” Andrew leaned even further
forward, trying to get a better view through the lights and the darkness.
“Shit, I never thought I’d see one.”
“Who’s Mark Killock?” Ellen asked.
“A tattoo artist, obviously.” Tamara replied. Andrew looked sharply back
at the two of them. “Not just any tattoo artist. Mark Killock is one of the
very best tattoo artists…his work is incredible. That tat is just his style,
the colors, the blending, and the subject matter….”
“Its delicious.” Ellen commented, grinning, standing up and adjusting her
short skirt over her thighs. “He’s mine.”
“Don’t look so worried,” Tamara commented after a pause, reaching out a hand.
“Ellen will be fine. You know her, she likes dangerous-looking longhaired
boys.”
Andrew shook his head. “I was just thinking about that tattoo.”
“Is it that special?”
“I’ve heard some really wild rumors about Mark Killock,” Andrew replied,
looking at Tamara mysteriously. Tamara laughed at him, taking his hands in
hers as if to reassure him. “Ellen can take care of herself.”
* * * *
Ellen was pleased with how the night was progressing. When she had started
dancing the man had ignored her, but he had been watching her the whole time.
When this song had started he had given her his undivided attention. One more
song and she would be sure. The music pounded in her ears as she swayed back
and forth, and the man in front of her mimicked her movements, watching her
with black eyes that radiated lust and made her breathe faster even before
he had even touched her. And here on the dance floor, with the lights, Ellen
could get a better view of the tattoo.
It was a shapeless monster of a tattoo that seemed to writhe as its owner
moved. It appeared to have dozens of tentacles, tentacles that ended in claws,
claws that were tinged with dark blood at the ends. It had no head, this monster,
but it had eyes, thousands of them, greenish purple eyes over the expanse
of its gelatinous body that seemed to look straight at Ellen while she danced.
Its mouth, in the center of its body, was ringed with teeth in rows, sharks’
teeth. The creature was purple, varying shades of purple that reflected and
glistened in the light, almost like scales. It was a repugnant picture, and
Ellen could not fathom why anyone would want it painted permanently on their
skin. But at the same time she had to agree with Andrew that the work was
fantastic. It was hard to believe that any single needle had crafted the lines
and blended the inks so perfectly that you could not tell where one shade
of purple ended and another one began. Reaching out playfully, Ellen ran a
finger down the center of the man’s chest, right over the creature’s mouth.
The man’s chest was smooth and hairless, with nothing to break up the lines
of the tattoo. Beautiful. “Do you like it?” the man mouthed to her as he danced.
“Yes,” she nodded admirably.
“He likes you too,” the man smiled at her, and Ellen smiled back. Bingo,
she thought. She had made her conquest.
* * * *
Later on Ellen approached Tamara and Andrew, who had moved to the upstairs
bar where the music was quieter. “So what’s up? Progress?” Tamara said as
Ellen approached their table again.
“Oh, yes,” Ellen said, smiling. “We’re leaving.”
“Have a good time,” Andrew commented. It was ritual that made him say that;
Ellen always had a good time.
The man approached Ellen from behind, wearing the discarded leather jacket
over his bare skin once again. He reached out and took the back of Ellen’s
neck in the other. Andrew looked uneasily from the hand to the man’s face;
he looked like he could close his fist and snap her neck with barely a thought.
“Ready?” the man asked, as Ellen took her jacket and purse from the chair
where Tamara had put them.
“Yes,” Ellen said, nodding politely to the pair, and turning to leave.
“Excuse me,” Andrew suddenly asked. Ellen and the man stopped and turned
back to the table. Andrew motioned to the tattoo with his chin. “Is that a
Mark Killock?”
The man looked at Andrew, and his eyes pierced the darkness as if a light
was shining behind them. “Yes,” he replied. “It is.”
“Are the rumors true?” Andrew asked, his voice straining to remain causal.
Tamara could feel the tension behind it in the air. “The rumors about the
rituals…?”
The man laughed, once, a short laugh that showed only in his mouth. “Of course
not,” he replied, taking Ellen by the shoulder and guiding her away from the
table. Ellen waved back as she left, grinning.
Tamara waited until the couple was out of sight before turning to face Andrew.
“Rituals?” she demanded, eyebrows raised, “what rituals?”
“Its just rumor.” Andrew shrugged, watching at the doorway where the two
of them had vanished. “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about Mark Killock’s work..
weird satanic shit.”
Tamara waited several seconds for Andrew to continue and when he did not,
asked, “what sort of satanic shit?”
Andrew shrugged again, reluctant to continue. “Mark Killock tattoos demons.”
“I’ll say,” Tamara stated. “That creature was horrible –”
“That not what I mean. I don’t mean that he tattoos pictures of demons; he
tattoos the demons themselves.” He took a pause as Tamara absentmindedly let
the ash fall from her cigarette onto the floor. “Its just rumor,” he finally
continued, when he realized he had said too much to just let it drop. “I’ve
heard that just finding Mark Killock is a test; you have to be really determined
to want to find him. It’s not like he tattoos in any shops. Then once you
find him if you want to get tattooed by him you have to go through years of
training, to prove yourself, before he lets you go through the rituals. And
the rituals are the weirdest part. I’ve heard claims that during the ritual,
black magic draws out demons from your soul. Usually the worst kinds of demons.
The magic enslaves them and then Killock tattoos the demon itself into your
skin.”
There was a long pause, and then Tamara took a long drag on her cigarette
and laughed. “Do you actually believe all that shit? Thats major twilight
zone stuff…Personal demons, exorcised from the body and painted into the
skin. Ooooh,” she laughed, waving her hands about in the air in front of her.
Andrew looked over at her almost angrily, grasping one of her hands in his.
“Does it really matter if I believe it or not, or even if its true or not?
The point is that if someone goes through the trouble to get tattooed by Mark
Killock, he very probably believes it himself. Regardless of the validity
of the rumors, Ellen has just gone home with a man who believes that he has
enslaved his own personal demon under his skin. And thats what worries me.”
* * * *
Ellen laughed as they walked to his apartment, feeling drunk and silly, and
loving the feel of a new man in her arms. They weaved haphazardly down the
sidewalk, occasionally taking breaks in the dark sections to grope each other.
Inside the building, he stopped her abruptly in the hallway outside his door
and shoved her up against the wall, one hand tangled in her hair, forcing
her head back to kiss her, hard, and the bit at her neck. Ellen pushed her
hands up under his jacket, gasping at the naked skin on his back. She gasped
when he hurt her. Then as suddenly as he had grabbed her, he let her go, standing
aside and reaching for the keys in his pocket. She had to press her hands
up against the wall to keep her balance, t keep from collapsing in a heap
on the floor. Lustfully she eyed him as he unlocked the door and gestured
chivalrously into the apartment.
She giggled when he locked the door behind her and pulled her directly to
the wide futon in the middle of the small studio. He pushed her onto the bed,
and took off his jacket in the dark, dropping it absentmindedly on a chair.
“Get undressed,” he commanded her, turning away from her and moving about
in the room. Ellen did as she was told, watching him in the half light as
he lit candles around the bed. In the flickering of the yellow light the tattoo
on his chest moved with the muscles in his body as if it were alive. “Come
to bed,” she said, impatient.
“In a bit.” he said, ignoring her as he finished with the candles. It seemed
like an hour before he finally put down the matches and climbed onto the bed
next to her. She gasped as his body covered her, gasped as his teeth bit into
her neck and her breasts. “Oh,” she said, once, and he leaned over her, his
hands on either side of her shoulders, the demon on his chest fully displayed
by the light of the dozens of tiny flames around the room. “Oh,” she said,
again, finding herself drawn to stare at the work on the skin a few inches
before her face. It was moving in the light. The clawed tentacles undulated
towards her and the mouth appeared to open and close, dripping black saliva
as it did. The demon’s eyes looked down at her body in lust and hunger, and
Ellen found she could not take her eyes away from them.
“Oh,” she said, a third and final time, as the man bent his arms and crushed
her body beneath his.
* * * *
“She’s not home,” Andrew said, holding the receiver against his ear with
one shoulder. “I’m telling you, she’s not home.”
“Well then where the hell is she?” Tamara asked. “She never misses Fridays.”
“Maybe she has a new guy,” Andrew shrugged as the phone rang over and over
again in his ear. “Maybe she’s out with him. You know her.”
“She would never miss a Friday at Shades,” Tamara insisted. “Never.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?” Andrew asked, giving up and hanging
up the phone.
“Same time you did,” she replied. “Wednesday, when she went home with that
guy with the tattoo. He’s probably murdered her, dismembered her body in the
bathtub and poured acid over it to get rid of the evidence.”
Andrew smiled, once. “And you claim that I have a vivid imagination.” Then
looked worried. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He does have a Mark Killock,
after all. The type of people who get Mark Killock’s tattoos are hardly the
type who are into normalcy in any way shape or form. And I didn’t like that
guy to start with.”
Tamara suddenly leaned close and pointed. “We could ask him.” she said, her
voice low. “Thats him over there.”
He was standing by the bar, wearing the same battered leather jacket as before,
once again bare-chested underneath it. The creature on his chest seemed much
less frightening than when it was fully exposed. In the full flourescent light
of the upper bar, it looked almost like a regular tattoo. Andrew and Tamara
watched him for a while as he ordered a shot of something dark and sludgy
looking, and swallowed it effortlessly. “Go ask him,” Andrew said, nudging
at her arm. He didn’t admit that he was slightly afraid to ask himself.
“OK, I will,” Tamara took the challenge. Andrew watched as she pushed through
the people standing around in her path, watched as she walked boldly up to
the man and talked to him. Andrew could not hear their conversation, but the
man looked puzzled when she asked. Tamara made motions that were obviously
a description; about this tall, longish hair. The man looked at her, and a
slow languid smile spread across his face. He leaned over towards her, and
Tamara seemed transfixed by her voice. The man’s lips just touched her ear,
and he whispered something to her. Tamara blinked, once, and then turned pale.
Andrew pushed himself away from the wall, ready to jump in if Tamara was
being threatened. What was going on? Tamara took a step back, blinking, and
the man leaned back and turned back to the bar, waving at the bartender with
authority, that smile still stuck on his face.
Tamara stood stock still for nearly a minute, and Andrew was just about to
go up to her to see if she was all right when she turned and bolted for the
door, one hand pressed up against her mouth. Andrew paused, debating whether
to confront the man, or run after Tamara. He chose to run after her, following
her outside. He called her name as she stumbled along the sidewalk, chasing
her, and finally caught up to her several doors down from the club.
“Tamara.” He said, grasping her shoulders, turning her towards him as she
went weak against the wall. Her expression was panicked, her eyes wide and
full of frightened tears. “Tamara, what is it? What did he tell you?”
“She — I–” Tamara started, and gulped for air, struggling for control.
“He has her. He has her trapped.”
“Wait here,” Andrew said, turning back towards the club. He pushed past the
door guy, pushed through the crowds to the bar where the man with the tattoo
was still standing, talking to the bartender and looking as if nothing had
happened.
“You,” Andrew said, pulling on his shoulder, spinning him to face him. “What
have you done with Ellen?”
The man stumbled a bit as he was spun, but he caught his balance and looked
coolly at his attacker, a faint air of disdain in his glance. “Ah, its you,”
he said. “I just explained it to your friend, ask her.” As if that was the
end of the conversation, the man turned back to the bar. Andrew took hold
of his shoulder again, grasped the front of his leather jacket in his fist
and turned him forcibly back around again.
“She told me already. She said you had kidnapped Ellen. I want to know what
the deal is, but if you’ve hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you right here.”
The man looked into Andrew’s eyes for several seconds, and then laughed again
with that faint humorless laugh. “I haven’t done anything with her.”
“Well, you certainly gave Tamara that impression. Why is that?”
The man pulled back, ripping his jacket out of Andrew’s grasp. There was
a long pause between them as their eyes locked. “Perhaps because I showed
her this,” the man said, and pulled aside his jacket, turning slightly into
the light.
The full glory of the tattoo was displayed in the flourescent light, and
Andrew found his eyes drawn once again to the fine detail in the work, admiring
it even as he was disgusted by its subject matter. The thousands of eyes appeared
to be staring at him, almost blinking. The tentacles writhed in the light,
and then as Andrew watched it, the creature actually was moving, rolling about
on the fabric of the man’s skin. And in one of its tentacles, viciously mauled,
was Ellen. Andrew stepped back, unable to pull his eyes away from the scene.
Ellen’s lower body had been entirely eaten away, the remainder cut in slashes
over every inch of her skin and her hair hung in her face, caked in her eyes
with blood and slime. Andrew watched in horror as Ellen’s body turned in the
creature’s claws, and saw with ever mounting panic that Ellen was still alive,
that she was fully aware of what was happening to her, and that she was screaming
at him, screaming mindlessly, trapped within the tattoo.