Chapter 3: The Five-Faced Devil

The girl’s name was Lillian Ford. Just like her name suggested, her skin was delicate, smooth, soft, and elastic—perfect for tattooing.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, blinking at me like she wasn’t sure if she should smile or run. She hesitated at the edge of the table, fingers twisting in her skirt, before finally lying back. She lay on the padded table, clutching a rolled-up towel, her eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles like she was memorizing each one. The skin on her lower abdomen was almost luminous under the bright work lights, untouched by sun or time—a perfect canvas. For a tattoo artist, it was as close to art as you could get.

After prepping her skin, her lower abdomen looked even paler and more translucent, like a piece of fine parchment. I couldn’t help but admire it.

I always say skin tells a story—hers whispered secrets of careful living and hidden sadness. As I worked, the studio filled with the smell of antiseptic and ink, the familiar scents oddly comforting in the strangeness of the moment.

According to our agreement, all the materials and tools for the tattoo had to be provided by Eli, but these were unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Eli brought in a leather case lined in velvet, opening it with a deliberate flourish, as if revealing family heirlooms. The needles were strange—longer than usual, with intricate carvings on the handles. The ink glimmered with a sheen I’d never seen in any brand before.

First, the tools had a distinct foreign vibe—mysterious and strange. The materials were unidentifiable, but they felt great to use.

The metal was cool and heavier than I was used to, but as soon as I began, the tools seemed to glide across her skin, almost as if they had a mind of their own. The sensation sent a shiver up my arm. I told myself not to overthink it—just do the job and cash the check.

Even the consumables, from the transfer paste to the ink, and even the usually ordinary Vaseline, all had an indescribable sweet-fishy scent.

It was subtle, but every so often, I caught the whiff—like sugar mixed with brine, unsettling and oddly familiar. I tried to block it out by humming along with the radio, but the scent clung to the back of my throat.

The deity had five heads. While each head looked somewhat similar, they were all different—some old, some young, some handsome, some ugly—but all with their eyes closed.

Drawing those faces took every ounce of focus I had. The features shifted in the light, the colors blending in a way that almost seemed alive. I found myself glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see someone—or something—watching.

Old-timers say there are tattoos you just don’t do—snakes eating their tails, saints with closed eyes. Bad luck, they whisper. Real bad luck.

It’s the kind of superstition you pick up working late nights and hearing one too many horror stories. Usually, it’s just a joke, something you tell the apprentices to keep them humble. But that day, the words felt heavier, like a warning. In the South, folks believe in omens—even if they won’t admit it out loud.

I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. This deity was strange, but at least its eyes were closed—if they were open, that would be truly ominous.

As the needle buzzed, I whispered a silent prayer—just in case. You don’t mess with fate, not in this town.

During the whole process, the girl wasn’t allowed to speak. From time to time, she shot resentful glances at Eli. Each time, he would gently pat her head and softly comfort her. The two of them seemed very close.

I’d seen couples come through—some laughing, some fighting, some so in love it hurt to watch. But there was something off here. Lillian’s eyes darted, her lips pressed into a thin line, like she wanted to say something but was afraid to.

It felt odd, but since Eli cared for her so much, I figured he wouldn’t harm her. I pushed my doubts aside and focused on the tattoo.

Money talks, and I needed to keep my own house in order. Still, my gut twisted as I dabbed the last bit of ink.

The design wasn’t large, but the coloring was intricate. Each of the deity’s five heads was a different color. I worked all afternoon and only finished by evening.

Sweat beaded at my temples by the time I finished, my back stiff from hunching over. The tattoo looked... otherworldly. The colors shimmered, catching the last orange rays of sunset that crept through the blinds. The hairs on my arms stood up. I told myself it was just the fluorescent lights, but I didn’t believe it.

Finally, I applied a healing film and explained the aftercare and what to avoid eating or drinking.

I handed Lillian a Ziploc bag with Vaseline, gauze, and a dog-eared aftercare sheet I’d printed at Kinko’s. She nodded, her hands trembling. I told her to avoid spicy foods and heavy drinking, stick to water and light meals, and call me if anything felt off. Eli hovered behind her, silent and unreadable.

Eli checked the tattoo and nodded in satisfaction.

He looked over every inch, his gaze lingering on the inked skin a beat too long, then met my eyes with a slow nod. There was a glint of something—approval, maybe, or hunger. Either way, it unsettled me.

Watching them leave arm in arm, I let out a long sigh of relief.

They disappeared into the humid night, the bell above my door jangling behind them. I slumped into my chair, the weight of the day pressing down on me. I cracked open a cold Coke, telling myself it was just another job.

I thought that would be the end of it, but what happened next was far beyond anything I could have imagined.

Little did I know, Savannah had other plans for me.