Ink

Ella was very proud of her one and only tattoo. It was her
eighteenth birthday present to herself. For two years now she had
displayed the image on her left upper-arm with short-sleeved t-shirts
and vests and boldly proclaimed how "It didn't hurt a bit."
The picture was from 'The Shining'; Jack Nicholson's maniacal face
framed by a splintered door, screaming, "Here's Johnny!" at his
terrified wife. It was about 4 inches by 3 inches in size, and it's
detail and realism were a credit to the tattoo artist. Ella was very
happy with Jack.
[+]
One night Ella had lay in bed, warm and comfortable in the familiar
surroundings of her room. She pulled the quilt up around her neck and
waited for sleep to come.
"You asleep?" said an obviously American voice, apparently from beneath
the covers.
Ella, though lying still already, froze a degree more.
Mentally acknowledging the absurdity of what she thought she'd heard,
Ella shook her head and continued her quest for sleep.
"Don't you fucking ignore me Ella." said the voice with an inflection
of menace.
The room seemed to darken further as Ella shuffled into a sitting
position, and she shivered slightly despite the warmth.
"Who's there?" she asked, and hoped no one would answer.
"Whadya mean, 'Who's there?'" replied the voice, mimicking Ella's
nervous question, "Who the fuck do you think is there?"
Ella had neatly segued from her initial feelings of apprehension into
panic. She realised the source of the voice, and clamped a clammy hand
over her mouth to suppress an imminent scream.
"Did you just talk to me?" she asked the tattoo from behind her
hand.
"Yep." answered Jack succinctly.
"How?" Ella croaked.
"Well, you know, I just kind of opened my mouth and out came the words.
Kind of simple really." Jack replied with sinister sarcasm.
Ella whispered, "I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming." and shook her head again
as if to cast away the surreal situation that was unfolding.
"You ain't dreamin' sister." said Jack quietly.
[+]
Ella awoke with stinging eyes and a throbbing neck. The previous
night's drama had thankfully faded with the morning sun.
She threw the quilt aside and swung round to sit up. The day was
greeted with the traditional yawn, and Ella stood. She padded across
her room; avoiding small islands of discarded clothing, and crossed the
landing to the bathroom.
Ella closed the bathroom door and locked it behind her. She filled the
sink with tepid water and threw handfuls at her face. She then took her
toothbrush for a short walk around her mouth and her brief hygiene
ritual was complete.
[+]
Ella stood at the front door wearing her heavy brown parka, her bag
replete with books pulling at her shoulder. After a light breakfast (a
cigarette and a mouthful of milk to freshen her mouth), Ella had pushed
all thoughts of last night's nocturnal strangeness firmly to the back
of her mind. She had college to face.
Ella left the house and headed to the bus stop. The bright morning sun
attacked her eyes and the cold air bit into her cheeks. She thrust her
hands into the deep pockets of her coat, lowered her head and marched
in the direction of the bus stop.
"Mornin' darlin'" said a muffled voice from inside her parka.
"Oh shit, oh no, oh shit." Ella breathed frantically, "I thought that
was all a bad dream."
"Hell no!" answered Jack brightly.
Ella quickened her pace, as if she was being pursued, and then realised
that she couldn't actually get away from her own arm. She saw a bench
on a grass verge about 50 yards ahead and hastened towards it.
Ella reached the bench and sat down heavily, the moisture on the
flaking wooden slats soaked into the back of her coat. She pulled a
packet of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket and lit one with a
shaking hand. She inhaled deeply, held the smoke in her lungs for a few
seconds and exhaled with a blast.
"Oh I miss those," said Jack from inside Ella's coat.
"Stop it." barked Ella.
"Hey, who the fuck put you in charge!" retorted Jack.
"What do you mean 'in charge'?" Ella's fear had transformed to anger,
"You're on my bloody arm!" she shouted.
"I'd rather have been on your ass," sneered Jack
"What?" cried Ella incredulously.
"Your ass Ella, you got a great ass. I'd like to have been put there.
Hey, you could get a skin graft, you know have me moved..." Jack
trailed off, lost in thought.
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!" screamed Ella.
Jack shut up, and Ella regained a little composure.
"What do you want?" she asked her arm.
"Want?" coughed Jack, "I don't want anything from you Ella. I'm just
here to piss you off, drive you nuts and generally make a real nuisance
of myself, O.K?"
"Why?" asked Ella.
"Hell, I don't know, I'll enjoy it I suppose. Yes, God damn it, I will
enjoy it. And believe me Ella, you won't."

[+]

Ella knew her mission; gag Jack. After the conversation on the bench
the day before Ella had ran home for the first time since junior
school.
Jack had been shouting all the way. The only way Ella thought she could
drown out his ranting was by whistling loudly and constantly. She'd
been running down a suburban street, in a bulky coat, a bulging bag on
her shoulder, whistling the theme from Star Wars between pants of
exhaustion. A talking tattoo would have probably been a less remarkable
sight.
Ella sat at her kitchen table with the Yellow Pages open in front of
her. Page 887, Tattooists. She smirked when she noticed that next to
them were listed 'Tax Advisers'. There probably weren't two more
disparate occupations next to each other in the whole book.
"Whatya doing doll?" sneered Jack from beneath Ella's thick pullover.
She had eschewed all short-sleeved garments in favour of heavy, knitted
tops that offered at least some sound-muffling properties.
"Mind your own business Jack." she replied, and shuddered when she
realised she'd addressed him by name, like a real person. She also
realised the insanity of what she was doing.
Ella had intended to visit another tattoo artist and have Jack's
picture covered. She'd envisaged a solid black rectangle or an
intricate, geometric design to completely obscure Jack's leering face.
And then it hit her; how could she bare her arm in public. More
importantly; in a tattoo parlour. Jack would instantly realise Ella's
intentions. That was if she even managed to get more than 50 yards down
her road.
So Ella decided on a home alteration job.
[+]
After four glasses of anaesthetic vodka (which also, strangely, seemed
to subdue Jack), Ella found herself at her kitchen table once
more.
In front of her were the instruments of her torture; one bottle of
Indian Ink, one sewing needle (sterilised by boiling) and more vodka,
should she need it.
She pulled her jumper over her head, threw it to the floor and looked
at her arm, into Jack's eyes.
"Bye Jack." she slurred, and picked up the needle.
Ella dipped it into the open pot of Indian Ink and held it, hesitantly,
about half an inch above Jack's mouth.
She then began to scratch.
Jack screamed.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" he bellowed.
Ella ignored him and continued her routine of dipping and scratching
until Jack's mouth was now a bloody, mass of black and red cuts.
"Stop it." he screeched.
The ink and blood solution ran down Ella's arm and dripped onto the
floor. Ella's pain had ceased to register after the first twenty or so
scratches and she continued her frenzy until she'd made over eighty
separate incisions. She dropped the bloodstained needle and rested her
head on the table with a thump.
"That..fucking..hurt." coughed Jack. He sounded as if he'd had drastic
dental surgery performed by a heavy-handed builder.
"Oh God no." Ella sobbed. The feeling in her arm had returned with an
alarming intensity and it throbbed and sang with pain.
"I thought I'd scratched your mouth out." she cried.
"You..really..are..stupid." spat Jack.
Talking was obviously difficult for him, but talk he did.
"There's only one thing," he paused to cough, "that would get rid of me
permanently, and you ain't about to do that, are ya?"
Some of Jack's bravado had returned with the knowledge that he was
merely injured and would heal. And he could still ruin Ella's
life.
"Wouldn't I?" Ella asked him calmly.
She stood and staggered over to the drawer beneath the sink. She pulled
it open a little too vigorously and the drawer itself came free and
spilled it's metallic contents to the floor.
Ella threw the forks and spoons aside like a dog digging, until she
came to the biggest, nastiest, sharpest looking knife she possessed.
Ella picked it up from the floor. She returned to the table and planted
her left hand firmly on the wooden surface.
Ella reached for the vodka bottle with her right arm and drank down
half of the fairly substantial amount that remained from earlier.
"Right Jack, this is goodbye," said Ella with a grim
determination.
She picked up the large knife and held it to the skin of her
shoulder.
She applied a little pressure and a rivulet of warm blood trickled down
into her armpit. And when she pressed harder her screams drowned out
Jack's.

?2001