Blood Ink

The Monster in Room 308

Martina was in biology class when her tattoo stirred from its slumber. First its head nodded, then a few sleepy limbs made their way across her back. No, she begged it, not here. Its little claws dug into her flesh as it snaked up her neck––Martina hurriedly undid her ponytail––and began nibbling at the skin behind her ear. She tried to rub it away with her shoulder, to no effect.

Martina felt blood springing from the tiny holes the tattoo left in her skin. The blood would soon gather and drip down her shirt. She always sat in the back row, but even there, people might notice. She bent her head down over her notebook, her hair cascading in front of her face.

Tears welled in Martina's eyes. It was crawling across the underside of her ear, leaving little holes in her skin every time it moved. Blood was now wetting her hair and running in rivulets down the line of her jaw; it would be on her notebook in a moment. Martina bit her knuckle to squelch a cry; with her other hand, she rooted around for the napkins that were always in her backpack.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Grossman was explaining the differences between deciduous and evergreen trees. Part of Martina's brain was absorbing this information, waiting for a free moment to write it down. She tried to focus on that part of her brain, to let it take over the controls. If she concentrated on what Mrs. Grossman was saying, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. Martina turned these thoughts into a calming mantra: Evergreen trees do not shed seasonally. Deciduous trees do. The redwood is an evergreen tree, but most maples are deciduous.

Three red droplets appeared on her notebook.

The tattoo began nibbling at the edge of Martina's ear. Her concentration faltered. She didn't hear the teacher call her name. The class lapsed into a short silence, punctuated by murmurs and muffled giggles. The other students watched her, leaning over her notebook, hair cascading over her face.

"Miss Eberhardt, are you still with us?" Mrs. Grossman asked.

Martina looked up and saw twenty-six pairs of eyes staring at her. She blanched.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Martina mumbled, and stumbled out of her seat. Everyone had seen the blood. She was sure of it.

"I haven't given you a hall pass," Mrs. Grossman said, but didn't stop the girl as she walked by.

The classroom door slammed shut behind Martina. Two boys shared an amused glance. In the back row, a girl leaned over to look at the departed girl's notebook.

Once safely in the hallway, Room 308 ceased to exist in Martina's mind. The tattoo now covered her entire ear; if she looked in the mirror now, it would be a solid, inky black. Maybe it would curl up there for a while. Maybe it would go to sleep again. Maybe, some day, it would go away.

Martina blinked back a fresh wave of tears. Hot blood ran off her chin and down her neck. The napkins grew soggy in her hand.

Then she felt it. One of the tattoo's tendrils reached out and stroked the edge of her mouth. It was almost gentle. Another tendril made its way down her jaw, sending up fresh pearls of blood.

Martina sprinted the rest of the way to the bathroom. There was no one else in there, thank God. Martina came close to the mirror and looked at her face. The tattoo was now traveling across her cheek, sending out an inky tendril towards the corner of her eye. Blood had soaked through the napkins and was running down her hand. The tattoo hadn't settled into a pattern yet; shadows swirled and shifted across her cheek.

Ever since the tattoo had first appeared—ever since she had seen the "moving mole" that darted across her body—Martina had worried that it would set into some vile shape that couldn't be altered. Standing in front of the mirror now, that fear possessed her. What if this was where it would stay, a permanent abstract blotch on her cheek?

Martina washed her face in the sink. The cold blotted out some of the pain; watching pink water swirl down the drain took her mind off her own body. She relaxed. Then she looked up. The tattoo now covered her whole face, filling it with intricate patterns of pain. It looked like a dark arabesque, slowly forming and reforming new vines across her skin. Choking back a scream, Martina splashed her face with cold water again. Sooner or later, the tattoo would go somewhere else. It always did.

When Martina looked in the mirror again, someone else was staring out of her eyes. Her entire face was now covered by an inky mask, with black scales, pronounced brows and a dragon's dark nose overlaying her features. The mask smiled.

Martina screamed and ran into the hallway. A gaggle of students turned to look at her. God only knows what they saw. Run, you morons! She thought. Before it does anything else!

They didn't run. Each of the students looked at Martina with the same dumb gaze: eyes dull, mouths slack, foreheads scrunched in confusion. Another scream ripped its way out of her throat; Martina sank to the floor. Pain obliterated everything else in the universe; the girl frantically clawed at her own forehead. The tattoo had to move. It had to.

"Martina?" a voice said to her left. The girl looked up and saw Mrs. Grossman standing over her. The teacher looked at her, dumbstruck, for a few moments. Martina wailed. The tattoo burned under the girl's skin. They knew now; they could see it. Red filled her vision; she couldn't blink it away. Martina reached up and wiped her face with one hand.

Everything went black.