Chapter 4: Lillian Returns

The night after I finished the tattoo, my old mentor, Rick Monroe, came to see me.

Rick had a habit of showing up unannounced—always around midnight, always smelling faintly of coffee and aftershave. He was a fixture in the tattoo world, and folks in Georgia whispered about his skill almost as much as they gossiped about his past.

He used to be Eli’s personal tattoo artist, specializing in tattooing Eli’s girlfriends.

Some say Rick had a sixth sense for trouble. He knew Eli’s crowd well, and the stories he told over whiskey at dive bars would chill your blood. If Rick was knocking on your door after hours, it wasn’t for small talk.

The women around Eli were countless, changing like scenes in a revolving door. According to Rick, every woman had her own exclusive tattoo.

He’d shown me old Polaroids once—neat lines, mysterious symbols, strange patterns. "Every girl’s got a mark," he’d muttered, eyes haunted. "Don’t let Eli’s charm fool you, kid. There’s always a catch."

"If I hadn’t been drinking too much these past two years and gotten shaky hands, this job wouldn’t have landed on you."

He said it like an apology and a warning rolled into one. Rick’s hands, once steady as a surgeon’s, now trembled when he reached for his mug. Time catches up to us all.

I hurried to make coffee, poured him a cup, and nodded in agreement.

The shop smelled of burnt espresso and cleaning alcohol. I handed Rick a chipped mug—my favorite, the one with the faded skull logo—and tried to hide my nerves.

"Remember, keep your mouth shut. There’ll be plenty of chances to make money in the future."

He eyed me over the rim, his meaning clear. Savannah’s secrets have long roots, and curiosity is a dangerous habit.

I took the chance to ask Rick about the tattoo I’d done that afternoon. It looked pretty sinister.

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wobbled. Rick’s expression darkened.

Rick was stunned for a moment and said, "It’s for attracting money. Don’t ask too much, just do the tattoo. The young hotshot doesn’t like nosy people."

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, fiddling with his lighter. It was the first time I’d seen real fear in Rick’s eyes. I thought about pressing him, but decided against it.

But what happened later proved it was definitely not just about attracting money.

The unease lingered long after he left, settling into my bones. I locked the doors twice that night and slept with the TV on.

---

About two months later, one evening, a fine drizzle was falling. The pitch-black sky was occasionally split by lightning. The road was wet and nearly deserted. I was just about to close up shop.

The city was quiet in that eerie way only Southern towns can be—rain tapping on the window, the neon sign outside casting blood-red shadows on the slick sidewalk. I was flipping the OPEN sign when my heart nearly stopped.

Just as I was about to lock the door, I saw a pale face pressed against the glass, making me jump and shout in surprise.

It was like something out of a horror flick—the face ghostly, eyes wild, lips drawn back in a grimace. I stumbled back, knocking over my coffee.

That face looked at me and slowly broke into a sinister smile.

The grin stretched too wide, teeth gleaming in the dim light. My hand shook as I fumbled for the keys.

Looking closer—wasn’t this Lillian Ford, the girl who’d gotten the five-headed deity tattooed in my shop?

My mind raced. Lillian? What the hell was she doing out alone, in the rain, in that state?

But her face wasn’t just pale and bluish; there were two huge dark circles under her eyes. She looked nothing like her former lively self.

It was like she’d aged a decade in weeks. Her hair hung in damp, stringy clumps. Her lips were chapped and her cheeks hollowed.

Though I felt uneasy, since she was Eli’s girlfriend, I had to show respect.

Business is business, and in Savannah, you don’t turn away folks from families like hers. I forced my nerves down and tried to act normal.

I quickly opened the door and welcomed her in.

"Hey, Lillian, come on in out of the rain. You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Sorry, it’s dark, I didn’t see clearly. What brings you here? Did the tattoo fade, or are you feeling unwell?"

My words tripped over each other. I poured her a glass of water from the old Igloo cooler, hands trembling just a little.

As I made small talk, I turned to pour her a glass of water.

The water sloshed onto my hand, cold and jarring, grounding me for a moment. The rain outside picked up, drumming harder against the tin awning.

Lillian didn’t take the cup. Instead, she moved up on me, quick and silent, like a cat that’s about to pounce, and whispered in my ear:

Her breath was icy against my cheek, and the hair on my arms stood straight up. She was too close—way too close. My back pressed against the counter.

"Mr. Sam, what exactly did you tattoo on me?"

Her voice sounded wrong, like it was coming from somewhere far away. I swallowed.

"The five-headed deity, the design Eli gave me."

I tried to sound calm, but my voice cracked at the end. Something in her eyes flickered.

The next second, she shoved me away and screamed, "You’re lying! Eli would never hurt me!"

Her shriek echoed through the empty shop, bouncing off the walls and making my blood freeze. I stepped back, nearly tripping over the stool.

With that, she ripped open her shirt with a loud tear, exposing her pale belly.

The movement was violent—buttons flying, fabric tearing. She didn’t seem to notice or care, her focus locked on me.

After a month or two, her abdomen was now swollen, like she was four or five months pregnant.

I felt the blood drain from my face. My knees went weak, like I’d been sucker-punched. She clutched her belly, eyes wild, breathing ragged. I’d seen fast pregnancies before, but nothing like this. Not even in nightmares.

"Tell me, what did you do to make me have those dreams every night and get pregnant so fast? Tell me!"

Her scream was guttural, desperate. I could see tears shining in her eyes—anger and fear tangled together.

Her face twisted into something ghostly, and the five-headed deity on her belly—whose eyes had been closed—now seemed to be squinting as her skin stretched. The deity’s limbs sprawled out like tree branches, its feet nearly reaching her private parts, radiating an unspeakable eeriness.

For a moment, I saw the tattoo move—the ink shifting, eyes cracking open. My breath caught in my throat. A cold sweat broke out across my back.

"Don’t panic, I’ll look into it and get back to you." I forced myself to stay calm, trying to soothe the crazed woman in front of me.

I tried to steady my voice, hands raised, like I was talking someone off a ledge. "We’ll figure it out, Lillian. I promise."

In all my years of tattooing, I’d seen plenty of strange things, but never anything this bizarre.

This was the kind of story you hear secondhand, not something that happens to you. My mind raced—did I do this? Or was it something darker?

"Fine, I’ll wait. I’ll come back in three days."

Her tone flipped on a dime—suddenly soft, almost seductive, the edge gone. It sent a fresh chill down my spine.

After I agreed, her tone instantly softened, her voice suddenly seductive in a way I’d never heard before.

Her lips curled into a smirk, and she backed away, swaying slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. It was like watching someone else wear her face.

I nodded and saw her out. Watching her fading figure, I quickly pulled down the shutter, locked the glass door, ran upstairs, rushed into my bedroom, and taped every protective charm I had all over the room.

I taped up every good luck charm I had—crosses, a St. Christopher medal, even the old horseshoe from behind the register. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped the tape. I plastered the charms over the bed, the windows, even the damn air conditioner. I slept with the lights on, clutching the old rosary my grandma left me. The city outside thundered and flashed, but nothing felt safe anymore.