Tally Mark

I run Inkwell Saints, a tattoo parlor tucked between a bakery and a vape shop. I’ve inked it all—devils, angels, lovers’ names, even QR codes. But none haunt me like him.

Every other Tuesday, 3:47 p.m. sharp, he walks in. Same black hoodie. Same silent nod. He sits, rolls up his sleeve, and points to the growing cluster of tally marks etched down his forearm.One more.

He never speaks. Never winces. Just watches the needle.

After the eleventh visit, I tried breaking the silence.

“Keeping score?” No answer.

“Each one a memory?” Still nothing.

Just that hollow stare.

By the twentieth mark, whispers started. Other artists refused to touch him. Said he had “dead eyes.”

But I kept doing it. Curiosity, maybe.

He always paid in cash and walked out, leaving only silence behind.

Then one stormy day, he came early. First time ever.

On his thirty-first visit,

I finally asked, “What are they?”

He looked up—really looked.

Voice like gravel. “Confessions.”

“Of what?”

He smiled. Cold. “You’ll see.”

As I finished the line, he handed me an envelope.

Before I could speak, he was gone.

Next morning, the news broke:

Serial killer found dead under mysterious circumstances.

I recognized him instantly—from the tally marks.

I rushed to the shop, tore open the envelope.

Inside—names. Dates. Confirmed execution victims.

Each matching a tally. All but one.

At the bottom, scrawled in ink:

“32. Luvv.” My name.

-The End

#ShortStories #Fiction #Suspense #Thriller #Tattoo