Older generations used to warn that people shouldn’t get tattoos because they’re permanent and someone may one day regret getting them. However, these days tattoo removal is an option. Although painful, it works after a few sessions but can leave behind some scarring. Either way, 35-year-old Leandro De Souza has decided to undergo laser treatments to remove almost 2 decades worth of ink.
Leandro De Souza is a native of Brazil and a proud father. However, his divorce almost a decade ago proved to be almost more than he could handle. As a result, De Souza went down a path of partying. During this time he accumulated more than 170 tattoos but his first ink was at just 13 years old. “I did the first one when I was 13,” De Souza explained. “The first ones were very much about the idolatry of the time.” However, he’s recently set out on a religious path of Evangelicalism. As a result, he’s decided to undergo the laser tattoo removal process.
Facing Heartbreak
Leandro’s first tattoos were inspired by his favorite bands, such as Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses, and Metallica. However, the majority of his tattoos were from a decade-long binge following his divorce. During that time, Leandro admittedly experimented with drugs like LSD, alcohol, and ecstasy.
Finding Motivation for Tattoo Removal
“I couldn’t stand the life I was living anymore. I was an attraction at (events I attended) and it felt like a circus animal.” He said regarding his decision for tattoo removal. De Souza was visiting a shelter almost a decade after his difficult divorce. This visit would change the course of his life. “The first step in everything in life is to accept that you can’t do it alone, that you are an addict, that you are a drug addict,” de Souza said. “And I managed to do that, I entered the municipal shelter in Bagé. Within a week, there was a lady who referred me and started to evangelize me.“
Turning a New Leaf
It’s been 2 years since De Souza changed his life and opted for tattoo removal. However, it’s a long process that will be more so for De Souza’s 170 tattoos. Moreover, he now spends his time speaking with “parents and children in homes that are in prisons.”
Leandro began the tattoo removal process with the help of a tattoo studio in Franco da Rocha, São Paulo, which heard about the exciting changes Leandro was making to turn his life around. He’s now been clean from alcohol for 3 years, and free of tobacco and other substances for a year. De Souza still has 6 more tattoo removal sessions before his ink is gone and his transformation, so far, is astonishing and awe-inspiring.
Tattoo Removal is a Modern Possibility
For many, getting a tattoo is inspired by the desire to express one’s creativity, treating their body like a canvas. However, others may regret their ink choices as they mature or their interests and relationship status change. Fortunately, tattoo removal is possible with advancing technology but there are a few side effects like tenderness, skin irritability, and even scarring.
Tattoo Removal Methods
Interestingly, tattoo removal comes with options. De Souza’s treatment, laser tattoo removal, uses lasers to “heat the ink particles,” breaking them down and making it “easier for your immune system to remove,” according to Cleveland Clinic. Laser tattoo removal sessions are scheduled about 3 months apart and can last anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour depending on the size of the ink. This method does come with side effects that range from mild skin irritation to painful blisters, but each person responds differently to treatment.
Skin Removal for Tattoo Removal
Another option for tattoo removal is surgical excision. The medical procedure requires a surgeon, who will “cut out the skin that contains a tattoo.” Then they will “stitch your remaining skin together.” The procedure probably sounds intimidating but it’s only used for small tattoos, as cutting an entire back tattoo and then stitching it up would be unpleasant, dangerous, and seemingly impossible.
Meanwhile, dermabrasion and chemical peels are used to remove the outer layers of skin. Unfortunately, both can cause severe skin sensitivity, especially in sunlight. Therefore, understanding the risks and how to treat the skin properly as it heals is essential to your skin’s health and physical comfort.
Not Recommended by Professionals
Lastly, and possibly least popular and effective, are tattoo removal creams. They can be used at home and often take months or years to yield results. Furthermore, they contain acids that “irritate or damage your skin.” As such, they’re usually advised against by medical professionals.
Can Anyone Get Tattoo Removal
In short, yes. However, some things are worth noting when considering tattoo removal. Firstly, tattoo removal takes time and similar or repetitive steps to be effective, regardless of your chosen tattoo removal method. The reason for this is that a tattoo artist applies ink in layers of the skin, so layers have to be broken down which can’t happen in one sitting, otherwise you’ll suffer severe and irreversible skin damage. Ultimately, that would put your overall health and immunity at risk. Additionally, your skin needs time between sessions to “flush out the ink” so, it’s recommended to wait a few weeks or months between most tattoo removal options listed above.
Secondly, certain ink colors are easier to remove than others. For example, blue and black are easy to remove during laser tattoo removal because “they’re better at absorbing light.” Meanwhile, colors like red are difficult to remove because their “molecular composition” is more resistant to the treatment options.
An Alternative
Consider having them turned into something else, rather than removed. For instance, if you’re considering tattoo removal and the reason has nothing to do with necessity, for work, or because, like De Souza, you’re on a new path. Instead, you don’t like how it looks anymore, have separated from the person who inspired the tattoo, or have other interests. In this case, you might consider another visit to the tattoo shop to have them create something else by covering the existing tattoo. For many, this option may be more satisfying and less time-consuming.
The House Was So Cheap I Thought I Won the Lottery, but When I Saw the Basement, I Understood Everything — Story of the Day
was tired of paying rent my whole life and was ready to fulfill my dream of buying my own house. A dream home at an unbeatable price seemed like the ultimate win—until I realized there were reasons for the low price hidden in the basement.
The first time I saw the house, I could hardly believe my luck.
It was like something from a postcard—a charming colonial with white siding and green shutters, tucked away at the end of a quiet, tree-lined street.
Sure, the paint was peeling a little, and the roof could use some work, but it had character. A lived-in charm that felt… welcoming. Almost.
Susan, the real estate agent, was waiting by the front door, her grin as bright as the clipboard of documents she waved in the air.
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“Perfect day to finalize your dream home, huh?” she said, her tone so chipper it made me wonder if she was trying a little too hard.
I nodded, eager to see inside. The house didn’t disappoint. Room by room, it seemed to reveal more reasons for me to fall in love.
The living room had a fireplace that practically begged for stockings at Christmas, and the hardwood floors creaked just enough to remind you they had a history.
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Susan trailed behind me, her heels clicking against the floor as she narrated.
“You won’t find a deal like this anywhere else,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“A home like this at this price? Practically unheard of.”
She was right, and I knew it. Still, something felt off—just a whisper of doubt at the back of my mind. It grew louder when we reached the basement door.
Unlike the others, this one had a lock. Not a simple latch, but a solid, heavy-duty lock that didn’t belong in a cozy house like this.
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“What’s down there?” I asked, pointing at the door.
Susan’s smile faltered, just for a second. She quickly recovered, but the hesitation had been enough.
“Oh, the basement,” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss it. “Just your standard storage space. I… uh… misplaced the key. I’ll have it sent over later.”
Her voice wavered, and the way she avoided my gaze made my stomach twist. But I told myself I was overthinking it.
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After all, this was my dream house, right? A place where I could start afresh.
I signed the papers, and Susan left in a hurry, her heels clicking faster than before.
By the time I started unloading boxes from my car, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the street.
That’s when I noticed her—an older woman standing on the porch of the house next door.
Her face was a map of deep wrinkles, and her thin lips curled into a tight, disapproving line, like she’d just bitten into a lemon.
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“Hi there!” I called, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m your new neighbor.”
She didn’t answer. She just stared, her eyes narrowing before she turned and disappeared inside her house without a word.
The screen door slammed shut behind her.
I shrugged, telling myself she was probably just one of those grumpy types. Still, her silence gnawed at me.
I spent the rest of the day unpacking, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that lingered.
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By the time I collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted into a restless sleep, the house settling around me like it was testing me, deciding if I belonged.
I woke to a sound that pulled me from the depths of sleep, a sound I couldn’t quite place.
At first, I thought it might’ve been the wind rattling the old windows, but then it came again—soft and eerie, like a child’s giggle.
My heart started pounding, loud and insistent, and I lay still for a moment, straining to hear more. Was I dreaming?
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The giggle came again, clearer this time. High-pitched, carefree, and completely out of place in the stillness of the night.
My throat tightened as fear prickled down my spine. I sat up, scanning the darkened room.
Shadows stretched across the walls, and the only sound was the ticking of the old clock above the mantel. But the giggle was real. I knew it.
Swallowing my nerves, I grabbed the closest thing I could find—a mop leaning against the corner of the room.
My palms were already sweaty, and the handle felt slippery as I gripped it tightly.
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I crept through the house, the hardwood floors creaking beneath my feet. My breathing was shallow, and every step made my chest tighten further.
The sound grew louder as I approached the basement door. The lock on it glinted faintly in the dim light. I stopped, staring at the door as if it might move on its own.
My stomach churned as I raised the mop, holding it like a weapon. “Who’s there?” I called out, my voice shaking.
Silence. For a moment, I thought maybe the sound had been in my head.
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Then it came again—a giggle, followed by a soft, whispering hush that sent goosebumps racing up my arms.
I couldn’t bring myself to open the door. Instead, I backed away, grabbing my phone and dialing 911 with trembling fingers.
The dispatcher’s calm voice tried to soothe me, but all I could do was stammer about the noises.
Twenty minutes felt like an eternity before the flashing red and blue lights finally appeared outside.
A single officer stepped out, his posture relaxed, his face unimpressed. “So, what’s going on here?” he asked, tilting his head toward me.
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“There’s someone in the basement,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I heard laughing.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Laughing, huh?” With a sigh, he fetched a crowbar from his car and approached the door.
The sound of the lock snapping open echoed in the quiet house. I held my breath as he disappeared down the stairs, his flashlight casting strange, flickering shadows.
Minutes later, he reappeared, shaking his head.
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“Just cobwebs and dust,” he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Nothing down there.”
“But I heard it!” I protested, heat rising to my face.
He smirked, shrugging.
“You’re not the first. Last few owners said the same thing. If you’re scared, maybe this isn’t the house for you.”
I clenched my fists, my frustration bubbling. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my home.”
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“Suit yourself, and good luck with the haunted house.” He left laughing, leaving me standing in the hallway, mop in hand, seething as the sound of his cruiser faded into the night.
The next morning, my phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the quiet stillness of the house.
I picked it up and glanced at the screen. A number I didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Margaret,” a thin, raspy voice said on the other end.
“The previous owner. Just checking in to see how you’re settling in.”
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Her voice immediately put me on edge, like she already knew something I didn’t. I hesitated before replying.
“The house is lovely,” I said cautiously. “But… something strange happened last night.”
There was a pause. I could hear her breathing, soft and uneven. Then she sighed—a long, heavy sound that made my stomach drop.
“You’re not the first, Clara” she admitted finally.
“There’s… a history with that house. Some say it’s haunted. I’ve tried to fix it, but nothing ever helps.”
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Haunted? The word hung in the air like a fog. My fingers tightened around the phone. “What kind of history?” I asked, my voice firmer than I felt.
She dodged the question.
“If you want out, I’m willing to buy it back,” she said quickly, her tone almost desperate. “Not the full price, but close enough.”
Her offer was tempting. I wouldn’t have to deal with the creepy noises or the weird basement.
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But the thought of giving up made my pride bristle. I’d worked hard for this house. I wasn’t about to walk away.
“No,” I said firmly. “I’ll figure this out.”
After we hung up, I grabbed a flashlight and headed for the basement. The air was cool and damp, carrying the stale smell of mildew.
I swept the beam of light across the basement. Dusty shelves, old pipes, and cobwebs filled my view.
Then I noticed something strange—scuff marks on the floor near the vent. Faint but deliberate, like something had been moved. My pulse quickened. Something wasn’t adding up.
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That night, I lay in bed, the blankets pulled tightly around me, every muscle tense. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, listening to the silence.
It wasn’t peaceful, though. It felt like the house was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Then, it came. The giggle. That same eerie, childlike sound that sent chills racing down my spine.
I sat up, heart pounding, but this time, it wasn’t just laughter. A faint hissing followed, like air escaping a tire.
My chest tightened as I slipped out of bed and tiptoed downstairs, each step creaking louder than I wanted.
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When I reached the basement door, I froze. A pale mist was creeping out from underneath, curling like ghostly fingers into the hallway.
My breath caught, and I fumbled for my phone, quickly dialing 911.
It wasn’t long before the now-familiar police cruiser pulled up. The same officer stepped out, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief.
“Again?” he said, shaking his head as he approached.
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Before I could respond, another car pulled into the driveway. Margaret stepped out, her face pale and drawn, her movements nervous.
“I heard what’s happening,” she said, avoiding my gaze.
“Let’s all go down together,” I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady. The officer sighed but nodded, his flashlight already in hand.
Margaret hesitated, but with a glance at me, she reluctantly agreed.
The basement was just as empty as before—dusty shelves, cobwebs, and shadows.
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“See? Nothing,” the officer said, his frustration obvious. “You sure you’re not imagining things?”
I wasn’t backing down. “I set up a camera,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s check the footage.”
I pressed play. The video showed Margaret sneaking into the basement.
She unlocked the door, placed a small speaker near the vent, and set up a fog machine before quickly leaving.
The officer’s jaw tightened. “Well, well,” he muttered. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a case.”
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Margaret’s face flushed red. “I… I was just trying to get the house back!” she stammered. “I didn’t mean any harm!”
The officer snapped handcuffs onto her wrists. “You can explain that to the judge.”
As they led her away, I stood in the doorway of my house, breathing deeply. For the first time, I felt like it was truly mine. I had fought for it, and I had won.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: It was a tough life for Molly. Her main concern was her son, Tommy. The constant changing of schools and towns wasn’t good for him. He started bullying other kids and starting fights. She never imagined that one call to the principal’s office would restore a part of her life she thought was lost.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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