Parlor Games

by Jeff Baker

“Okay…yeah…I got it…” Julian said into the phone. “Just come in sometime this week and we’ll see what we can do…yeah…yeah…goodbye.”

Julian hung up and glanced over at Ryder.

“Well, that’s another one. Got a tattoo here last month.”

“From Elvis?” Ryder asked, but it went without saying.

“Yeah.” Julian said. “Right down her arm. A lightning bolt. Said she nearly ran over somebody the other day.” He sighed. “Felt somehow the tattoo was responsible.”

“Well, it was wasn’t it?” Ryder said.

“This is no way to run a business,” Julian said shaking his head.

Julian Syms and Ryder Boyd had been together for five years and had gotten tired of working for other people when they decided to open their own tattoo parlor. They’d been in business for a year when Elvis Ambroise had shown up. At least he called himself that. He had impeccable credentials and solid skills as a tattoo artist. But then they found he had been mixing his own ink from a very unorthodox formula. For that and other reasons they had fired him months ago. Then they started hearing from customers Elvis had inked. Strange things were happening to them. A man had tried to strangle a passerby on the street. A kid had set fire to his own house. They all said somehow their tattoos had compelled them to do it.

After Elvis had left, Julian and Ryder had found his backpack in the back of a cabinet in the back room. It had a bottle of that homemade ink and a couple of cabalistic books in it.

“That,” Ryder had said, “is a bad sign.”

They’d gone to a priest Ryder had grown up knowing and he had blessed their tools and ink. Using them on the tatts Elvis had done seemed to negate the effects.

“I happily signed up for anything to marry you, but I didn’t expect a redo of that old TV show about the creepy antique store,” Ryder said kissing Julian on the cheek.

“Yeah,” Julian said grinning and kissing him back.

The door burst open.

A huge man stood in the doorway, his shirt and pants ripped. On his chest was a green tattoo of the Hulk snarling.

“What the Hell did you people do to me?” the man yelled.

—end—

Author’s Note: Okay, I hadn’t expected to do a riff on “Friday the 13^th The Series,” but it fit the picture. —-jeff June 27, 2025