The tattoos that ghost stories left on me were all text-based.
This was inscribed when the membership granted by the blue dragon mascot at the theme park burned away. According to Braun, it symbolized ‘special authorization’, granting a type of access pass.
The other was in Chinese.
This appeared when the lodge caretaker’s contract from the serial killer ghost story, the hanji burning over my skin.
However, because I lacked the ‘qualifications’, it was nothing more than a symbol with no real function.
If I had to choose one to ‘enhance’…
“I’ll be in your care.”
The tattooist leaned in to examine the tattoo I had pointed to.
The reason for this choice was simple:
‘It’s better to increase the range of abilities I can use.’
It’s (unfortunately) almost guaranteed that I’ll be venturing into various ghost stories in the future. This means relying on just one superpower won’t cut it.
‘Even Chief Lizard had near death experiences despite his strength—it’s clearly not enough.’
It’s better to have a variety of abilities for different scenarios. Strengthening a single ability halfway wouldn’t be as effective.
‘It’s more practical to make use of an unused tattoo.’
With Moonlight Tattoo Shop, I didn’t have to worry about ‘stepping on a landmine’.
The shop was extremely benevolent, so it didn’t grant harmful powers. I could trust that the lodge caretaker wouldn’t suddenly appear to strangle me.
I glanced at the Latin tattoo.
Thinking back to the emotional bond I seemed to have formed with that mascot, covering up this tattoo felt… wrong.
‘That’s a warning sign.’
As a dedicated reader of the , my instincts told me to avoid tampering with something that carried emotional resonance.
– Ah, it’s finally starting!
And so, I made my choice, and the tattooist began her work.
When she tried to show me several design options, I stopped her.
“Oh, please just proceed with what you think works best.”
If I wanted the best results, I had to trust the professional.
“I trust in your skill, Tattooist-nim.”
The tattooist’s eyes gleamed momentarily before they confidently gestured for me to lie back on the chair.
She also handed Braun to me to hold tightly.
– Does she think I’m a stress-relief toy? What an amusing yet rude misunderstanding!
The tattooist donned intricate steampunk-style goggles and began operating an enormous tattoo machine.
‘…Are tattoo machines normally that big?’
It looked as large as a surgical device, and for a moment, I was taken aback.
Then, moonlight poured into the machine.
The LED light from the ceiling flowed into the machine and concentrated at its tip.
The needle glowed like a jewel as it approached my arm, and following the instructions, I closed my eyes.
A strange sensation spread through my left arm.
It wasn’t pain, tickling, or even pressure.
It felt as if old grime was being peeled away, my skin rearranging itself and fitting together perfectly—a refreshing, soothing sensation.
The light faded, and following the tattooist’s gesture, I opened my eyes.
The tattoo now had a background.
It depicted a deep blue night sky with a full moon painted in a single bold stroke. On the moon’s shadow, the characters were engraved. Around them, stars were scattered like a pearl-studded constellation, shimmering faintly.
The tattooist stood with her hands on her hips, as if asking if I liked it.
With a satisfied smile, the tattooist patted my shoulder before rushing to the counter.
When they returned, she held a single pearl in her hand. It looked like it had been taken from the necklace I had provided.
The tattooist placed the pearl against the tattoo on my arm.
And it sank right in.
– Hooh, well now. Hmm…
– Mr. Roe Deer, this is truly fascinating. A ‘pathway’ has opened.
– Try gently rubbing the tattoo. You should feel something.
I raised my hand and lightly touched the tattoo, which, as if by magic, showed no signs of swelling or pain.
Between the layers of skin, there was a distinct ‘gap’.
Carefully, I ‘inserted’ my hand into it.
When I withdrew it, I was holding the pearl that the tattooist had placed inside earlier.
– Exactly. It seems that the uncharismatic lodge caretaker’s contract included ‘providing space’ as part of the deal!
– After all, isn’t it a servant’s duty to provide rooms for their guests? It seems the artist found a loophole in the contract, enabling her to grant you a small space as well!
Does this mean I now have… my own little inventory?
‘Is this really happening?’
My heart raced at this webtoon-like gift—something I’d never expected from a creepypasta.
– Let’s see… imagine a cube with a side length of about 2 feet. That’s roughly the amount of space that’s now ‘connected’ to you.
Braun used that pesky imperial measurement system—typical of an American ghost story connection—but still, the information was genuinely helpful.
But now I had another question.
‘So… is this space connected to that lodge?’
That crazy, murderous lodge should have disappeared by now though.
– It’s uncertain. Where it’s connected to… no one can say for sure.
– Only the original contract holder would know what kind of space the lodge caretaker had agreed to provide.
– It’s intriguing, isn’t it? This would make for a great bet! What shall we wager for the fun of life?
I would like to politely decline…