The following is a letter I received from a friend explaining his disappearance I thought best to disclose it to the public, as a warning. My name and the name of my friend are hidden for reasons that will become clear.

Dear —

You wonder where I am and what has become of me, and so this letter trying to explain.

I heard some time ago that there was a new fad spreading through the faddish set, invisible tattoos. Of course I doubted what I heard. After all, what is the point of an invisible tattoo? Can’t be displayed, can’t be seen, one would think. The idea caught hold of my imagination, piqued my curiosity to an insatiable extent. And, besides, I had not much else to do. So I began to research these strange claims.

It made sense to me to begin my research at the most logical place so I visited tattoo parlours. Why these places are called parlours is a mystery left to the historians of the phenomenon. But, no matter, I visited several, and found them all much the same, usually located on rundown back streets, as if the trade was considered something to be hidden, no doubt adding to the allure of the places, a place forbidden, or something dirty, like the pornographic shops that they are often next too, though I am informed that in the big city these places are high end establishments-serving espresso and biscotti’s while the patrons wait their turn- but in the small towns convenient to my researches such places cannot be found.

The first shop I entered was occupied by a large woman in her 30’s, whose vast skin area was covered head to foot in multicolour tattoos, and, with her, a thin young man, with a pony tail covering tattoos on his neck, which ran down both arms as if snakes were writhing in dance on his skin. They were both at work on a couple of patients, customers rather, though to me they looked liked they were undergoing surgery, the first being a biker type adding to his collection of hearts and knives, and the other, a chic looking young woman with beautiful long brown hair, whose clothes spoke money, expanding the delicate butterfly she had on her ankle to an entire menagerie of birds and flying creatures, covering the length of her legs, as if she desired to be a walking poster for the beauties of the rain forest.

The large woman raised her head from her client, the biker, as I walked in, and asked what she could do for me, smiling in greeting. When I told her I was inquiring about the new invisible tattoos, her smile disappeared, replaced by a look of distrust, as if a cop had just walked in, looking for drugs.

She asked me who told me about them, what I had heard about them. I wasn’t able to help her much and told her so, that is why I was there myself I informed her, to learn about them, if they existed.  So far she had not answered my questions, but instead asked me questions, which only delayed things, and began to annoy me.

Finally, in frustration at the run-around she was dishing out to me, I lost my temper a bit and became more forceful in my inquiry. The young man put down the needle machine he was using on the young woman, paused, then said I should be more polite, -I begged his pardon- then, eyeing me carefully, he said, yes, there was an artist, as they call themselves, who had devised a way of inscribing invisible tattoos on the flesh of human beings, after some experiments he had conducted using the bodies of shaved mice. Or so he had heard. But neither he nor his partner knew how to do it or had seen it done, what the secret was, or the purpose, and said they didn’t want to talk about it, since the idea of invisible tattoos was a threat to their own business and no doubt dark forces were at play. They suggested I drop the matter, and let the rumour disappear into the landscape of urban legends. But I was not about to give up, so, after I left them, I visited several other places, with the same result, suspicion, and obstruction at every step.

I must have visited a dozen or more of these places with the same result and frankly I was getting discouraged, concluding it was just fake news one hears about all the time. But I took a deep breath and decided to try one last option, a small tattoo place I had missed, but which was brought to my attention one day as I was just out for a walk and turned down a street I had not been on before, and, passing an old house, saw a small sign on the door-that said “The Art of the Unseen-Tattoos For The Discriminating.”

Needless to say the sign offered possibilities and so I walked up to the old wooden door and tried to look in, but couldn’t see much through a lace curtain on its small window, nor could I see through the front window, which was also curtained. Naturally, I turned the doorknob, and swung the door open into a dimly lit room where an old man sat in a large armchair, reading a book. He looked up and with a crinkle in his warm eyes, smiled, put the book down, stood up and said, “Welcome” with one arm, gesturing for me to sit in a smaller chair opposite him, which I did, while looking around for the usual paraphernalia one finds in tattoo parlours, but saw none, just some old black light posters from the 60’s of The Beatles, and Jim Morrison on the walls, some lit candles offering the little light, a joss stick offering its pungent scent of sandalwood to the air, all very psychedelic-memories of my youth flooded into my thoughts.

The man, who must have been in his 70’s with long white hair, and beard, tall, and yet, despite the white hair youthful in appearance, watched me for sometime minutes before asking me if I would like some tea, which offer I accepted. He stood up slowly, left the room and several minutes later returned with a tray with two cups and a small Chinese teapot from which he poured a golden liquid into my cup and gave it to me, poured one for himself, sat back in his chair, told me I could address him as Ray, then asked how he could help me.

Encouraged by this relaxed reception I explained to him what I was trying to do, to learn whether invisible tattoos existed or not, what they were all about and the dead end I had entered. He smiled enigmatically.  I waited his reply.

It took several more minutes as he sat there seeming to regard me more closely, looking me over, sipping his tea, until finally he said that yes, they did exist, and he should know as it was he who had devised a method to create tattoos that were invisible. This admission astonished me after so much fruitless searching and obstruction, but I quickly gathered my wits about me and asked two questions, why and how.

At that he leaned forward bringing his face closer to mine and began his story of how he had become a tattoo artist years ago, a long story worthy of another letter but which you will not be encumbered with here. He had won prizes for his skills and designs, and was happy to give people what they wanted. Which is what? I asked. To which he replied with his own question, why do people want to cover the natural beauty of their bodies with images and symbols and then answered his own question with one word, Vanity.

Of course everyone is vain and wants to look good and have an image of themselves they want to present to the world. We spend a lot of time preparing for the day trying to look our best. But he went on to relate that he observed many of these people come back again and again, never happy with one image, becoming bored with it after some weeks or months and wanted to add another one, and another, and another, until in some cases their entire bodies were covered in colours and images. But it never satisfied them, and then of course they were stuck with them. They were permanent. Once you had made your statement, you couldn’t change it like you can your clothes or your haircut.

He also observed that though his clients insisted on being decorated to show the world something about themselves, when people paid attention to their tattoos they reacted with hostility asking things like “what are you staring at,” or “what’s your problem” or, if the tattoo was in Chinese calligraphy or was some type of symbol, and people asked what it meant the same reaction was elicited, generally resentful that they were being asked. The resentment was worse when curious people, seeing a walking work of art in front of them, or walking down the street, went up close to take a look; for people assumed that if someone had painted their body, then they must want people to look at the art they had covered their bodies with. But in most cases, the reactions were surly and dismissive, the, “don’t bother me,  “none of your business” or, ”if you don’t like it don’t look at it,” sort of attitude. 

This discordance between the wish to paint their bodies and the resentment towards those who wanted to understand or look closely at the images, revealed to his mind that they were not really at ease with the images on their bodies, and he began to consider what the purpose was for those who wanted tattoos, for those getting them, not for some ancient religious or cultural practice, but for pure decoration, or to make a statement about their lives, about eternal loves which never were, loyalties to abandoned causes, about events in their lives they now wanted to forget. It became clear to him that he was not helping people add to their lives with tattoos, instead he was helping them hide from themselves and to distance themselves from others.

Anyway, that is what he thought and explained to me. The fake invisible tattoos, those special inks visible only under black light, the latest trend in the business these days, he rejected as inferior and dangerous, a gimmick. Instead, he had researched old histories of invisible inks used in ancient times, and found a book written in the 1600s, by Dr. Hans Von Hauser, of Vienna, a chemist and biologist, who had travelled to the Indies and other lands, studying the origins and history of tattooing, and had come across an account of an ancient type of ink once used by head-hunters in Java that had the capacity to disappear at the will of the person on whom it was used. This intersection of the physical with the mental intrigued him. So after years of experimentation, and yes, on shaved mice as guinea pigs, so to speak, he determined what the formula was and set up the small place he was now in to seek out people who wanted tattoos that could be invisible when they required. But he had met with failure. Either the images stayed visible or they never appeared when desired and he realised that he must have missed something in Dr. Von Hauser’s book. Years of further research led him to an antiquarian bookstore in Amsterdam where he was fortunate to find a second volume of the professors’ work which turned out to be the key to the whole thing, for it dealt with the mind control methods that had to be learned to be able to control at will the appearance or disappearance of the images.

This volume he absorbed intensely, pouring over its contents with difficulty. He had to relearn his high school Latin to comprehend it as the good professor, like all scientists of the time, wrote his works in that ancient language. Nevertheless, he was able to absorb and understand the meditation techniques described in the book that could be used to control the ink, to control the skin’s reaction to the ink. Since mice were useless for this aspect of his experiments he had try it on himself. I asked him if it worked. He replied by pulling up his sleeves where no tattoos existed. He then sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and began chanting in a language I could not understand or identify. He did this for several minutes, nothing much happening, though his chants became more intense and louder, until, suddenly, there appeared on both arms below his elbows, images of ancient symbols intricately linked together into a montage of mystery. 

He then opened his eyes, ceased chanting and said, “You see?”

I was impressed, fascinated by what I had observed and asked him if he had done this to anyone else. He answered that he had chosen several people who had become aware of his experiments, friends, though he had few, and had at their request decorated them. But it turned out be another failure. The ink was easily made and applied, but their ability to learn the mind techniques never reached the necessary level of understanding and control. They were tattooed, but the tattoos remained invisible, except for times when, outside their control, and unwanted, the tattoos briefly flashed an appearance, to the surprise of the person and those around them. If you are having dinner with a friend and suddenly their face becomes alive with snakes and birds in multicolours, the effect can be disconcerting to them and everyone in the restaurant. A couple of them had nervous breakdowns as a result and had to be hospitalised in a state of mental crisis. So he had stopped doing any further tattooing until he could find a way of controlling the tattoos more effectively.

Then he became more hushed and leaned forward again to ask if I had any connection with the army. I had none and told him so. He relaxed a little then told me some strange men had shown up a few months before making the same enquiries I had made, stating they were interested in his technique for military purposes, since if the tattoos can be used to show things, they can also be used to hide things. They were interested in using it for camouflage for their soldiers in battle, allowing them to merge with their backgrounds, depending on the tattoos inked on them. But he had refused to cooperate. They went away, but he was nervous that they would come back and be more insistent. 

My visit with him lasted several hours but I was pressing my luck and he began to become agitated with my over-extended visit and suggested he had to rest, since the mind control technique used a lot of energy and tired him. So I thanked him, shook his hand and left, never to return. 

I spent the next few weeks trying to learn more about Ray and Dr. Von Hauser but was not getting very far, when one day I noticed a small item in the local news that the structure at the address where I met him had been seized by the federal police and sealed. The fate of Ray was not mentioned. So, I fear that they came looking for him, kidnapped him and now hold him in some facility, forced to work with them on their diabolical war plans. It was then I began to fear for my safety since I now know much of the things Ray does and have since moved to another location, a secret location, hiding out from the authorities, regretting I ever became involved.

Regards

C—-

PS, If you do not hear from me in a week, make this public.