Katie Marie Robinson-Sherlock

There’s a God in my skin.

At least it calls itself a God. I have no basis for comparison, nor any idea what else to call it.

The night I was ‘blessed’ with its presence is a blur, a combination of too little sleep and too much whiskey.

I imagine that most people who get blackout drunk and end the night in a tattoo parlour wake up the next day with either an obscure, inappropriate or illegible tattoo. They don’t wake up with a God writhing in their skin.

The creature is a living tattoo. It looks like a monster, part man, part deer, part sea creature, but it changes constantly. Sometimes it is more a man than anything else, other times a mass of tentacles and teeth, and on one occasion, it twisted itself into a mass of bloody antlers. Its voice sounds like a hive of bees, angry and indistinct.

It took me 9 hours to realise the grotesque amalgamation of beasts was alive in my skin. I’d crawled out of bed, with less than an hour to get to work, and into my second-hand suit. There had been no time to shower, just a quick shave, so I didn’t see the creature on my chest. The kitchen stank as it did every day, old food that I never found the time to throw out. Milk that had long ago changed from a liquid to a solid. I grabbed blindly in the cupboard for the last protein bar and escaped out the front door.

I started my elderly Nissan on the third attempt, which was better than usual, and puttered my way out to work.

The office was forty minutes away, and traffic was not kind. By the time I arrived, my usual parking space near the back of the car park was gone and it forced me to park amongst the Audis and Mercedes of upper management. I curled my lip as I edged out of my car and scurried inside, taking a moment to stop and stare longingly at the dark green Jaguar XJ parked right by the front door. That car was a thing of beauty, owned by the Chief Executive. I’d give an arm and a leg to own that car.

Snapping myself out of my daze, I headed inside and up to the fifth floor, doing my best to ignore my co-workers in their pressed suits and shiny shoes. The gleaming office and the bright lights made my head pound. I dropped my bag at my desk and, after rummaging in my cramped drawer to find my stash of painkillers, I headed into the bathroom.

That’s when I saw it.

I was sweating profusely, so I loosened my collar and noticed something black at the base of my neck.

“What the hell?” I wiped at it, but it didn’t come away. I undid a button, then another and another. “Oh, my fucking God. You have got to be kidding me!”

The thing squatted on my chest, large, evil looking. A mess of teeth, tentacles and bone. What the hell had I done last night? The door behind me opened, and I rapidly buttoned my shirt.

“Hey Greg.” Daniel, a team lead over in Quality Assurance, waved as he came in. “Holy shit man, you alright? You look like crap.”

“Thanks.” I glared at him.

“No, I mean it. You look sick. Should you be here today?” He took up position at the urinal, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Yeah well, we can’t all take time off whenever we feel…” I started, but stopped. My chest burned suddenly. I clasped at it, and it slowly eased.

“Maybe talk to Mike, see if you can work from home today or something.” Daniel finished up and came over to wash his hands. I rolled my eyes and scoffed at Daniel. Turning, I headed out of the bathroom, back to my desk.

Mike was my boss and most of the time he didn’t remember my name despite my working here three years longer than he had. He’d started off as my junior but had slinked his way into a management role within two years. He was nearly ten years younger than me.

I spent the day trying desperately not to think on my latest poorly thought-out choice, but I couldn’t help wonder what on earth had possessed me to get a tattoo. I’d never wanted one before, had never thought to myself, someday I’ll get something. They’d never been on my radar, so to suddenly wake up hungover with a big and frankly hideous tattoo was a surprise. At least drunk me had gotten it somewhere easy to cover up.

It was 48 hours before it spoke with me, demanding sacrifice and blood.

“I can make you a great man. All it takes is a little blood.” I jumped at the voice, knocking my coffee cup off my desk.

“You alright?” Sandra asked from her position a little way down the row of desks. She was eating lunch at her desk, sushi.

“Yeah, just clumsy.” I retrieved my cup before fleeing into the bathroom.

Once inside, I splashed water on my face. I looked terrible, bags under my eyes, and my skin sallow. The skin around my neck and shoulder itched like I was covered in thousands of tiny biting insects. I tore at my shirt, popping the topmost buttons off the fabric. The mass of tentacles writhed on my skin, a seething ink-black mass. Slowly, a human face emerged from within them, its forehead crowned with the antlers of a buck and its maw full of long needle teeth.

“It’s just a hangover, a hallucination caused by overwork or poor nutrition. You’re not mad.”

“All eminent men are mad.” The voice spoke, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

“I’m not a great man. I’m a sick man. I need a doctor.” There was a lump in my throat. “What are you?”

“I am you, Greg.”

The voice didn’t sound external anymore. It was inside me, somewhere beneath my ribs, nestled in the space between my bones. Like it had always been there.

“You know what you deserve,” it whispered, curling around my thoughts. “You know how they look at you. The ones in their perfect suits, with their perfect lives. Always passing you over. Laughing behind your back.” My breath caught. “But I can fix that,” the God purred. “You just have to let me.”

Images flash before my mind, so vivid it was like an artist had placed it there. A house to call my own, no longer paying my landlord’s mortgage. A job where I am respected. Sushi for lunch every day. A Jaguar XJ to call my own. A beautiful partner who valued my thoughts and opinions, someone I could connect with.

A life just as good as everyone else’s. No more scraps for me. No more clawing frantically for what most people would turn their noses up at. I deserved better, and I could have it.

“Just a little blood.” The tattoo buzzed.

I’d cut myself on my drunken night out. The wound had scabbed over, but with a little effort, I tore the scab free and let it bleed. I don’t know why I did that. There was no way this could be real. I had to be hallucinating.

The tattoo darted across my chest and down my arm to the injury in my hand. The blood now seeping from the minor injury melted into the ink, disappearing.

“Is goooooood.” Its voice reverberating through me.

“Yeah, where’s my ‘greatness’?” The tattoo fell still and said nothing. “Yeah, I thought so.” I buttoned up my shirt, splashed more water on my face and headed back into the office, intending to pick up the phone and call my doctor.

“Greg?” Mike stormed over to me the minute I stepped out of the bathroom, his face red. My arm flashed up, unbidden, by me, and my hand clasped his tightly. In a lightning-fast moment, I saw a twisting black tentacle slip out from under my shirt, moving through my skin and onto Mike.

“What the…” Mike tugged at his arm. The tentacle spasmed in his hand, sprouting barbs that bit into his skin, drawing blood. It moved into the wound, detaching itself from me and vanishing into him. My boss’s eyes clouded over.

“You alright, Mike?” I mumbled. Mike blinked, his eyes clearing. A vapid smile covered his features.

“There you are, Greg, just the man I wanted to see.” He put his arm around my shoulders and started leading me into one of the smaller meeting rooms. “You know we’ve been watching you for some time now, and with Donald taking early retirement, well….” He closed the door.

“Um, yes?” Sweat broke out over my skin. This was it, the ‘We’re downsizing’ talk.

“Well, I wanted to tell you we’re strongly considering you for his position.” My ears started buzzing. Mike’s voice was suddenly muffled. “How’d you like that? You’d get your own office, access to the benefits programme and, of course, you’d go up several grades in salary.”

“But… but when I asked about applying last week, you said not to bother, that I wasn’t executive material.”

“Nonsense, of course, your executive material!” Mike laughs aloud, his voice sounding oddly hollow. “Now nothing set in stone yet. You’ll have to interview, just like everyone else.” He winked at me. “But so long as you show up and don’t mess things up to terribly, then…”

I stare blankly at him. This couldn’t be real.

“Now, the interview is on Thursday at 9am, but keep it hush-hush for today. We’ve not announced anything yet.” Mike stopped and stared hard at me. “Maybe take the rest of today as a rest day. You don’t look well and we need you in top shape.”

“Oh, um yeah, thanks Mike.”

I leave the office in a daze. I remember a little of my walk out. The world was blurry and out of focus. Things only snapped back into focus when I closed my car door.

“Wellllll,” the God buzzes once I’m in the car.

“OK.” I swallow, my throat bone dry.

“Imagine what I could do with just a little more blood, a little flesh.

Images of the car, a nice house all flash before my eyes and I reach up, pressing my fingertips to my chest gently through my shirt. I can feel the tattoo writhing. A few drops of blood got me a job interview. Imagine what a little more could do.

“I need a new suit.” My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a cup of sand.

“Just a few drops.”

To be continued…