Sledgehammer Sam.

Sam was just an average 15 year old. Brown hair, green eyes, freckles. There was one thing different about Sam, though. He was very sensitive, and when he got ticked, he got ticked. The one thing that was different? When he got mad, his eyes turned bright red. This is why he tried to stay calm in public, even though he couldn't help the color change. There was also something strange about Sam. Not different. Just strange. He loved to mess around this his tools in the dark, preferably at night, not just with the lights off. He was obsessed with his sledgehammer. It was neon green and could light up for safety purposes. He used it for whatever he could, wether it was fixing something or breaking something. Sam got this hammer when he was very young. He even slept with it for a period of time. His parents didn't tell him to stop, one reason is because his father was an alcoholic, second reason being his mother was a drug addict. Sam was always being left alone in the house and had a lot of time on his hands. He also had some resources that he ordered on some websites he found. Resources like metal, stone, and more along with a few tools. Sam liked to build swords, maces, and other weaponry. Not for evil purposes, he just loved the way he could build anything he wanted. As Sam got older, he started to get into some long relationships, he got out more, and eventually he got to the drinking age.

He didn't drink often. He didn't want to follow his father. He never tried drugs, for he never wanted to be like his mother. Instead, he kept building. One night, after a party at a club, he was walking home alone. It wasn't a far trip, so he decided not to take his car. He walked past a few houses while he texted his friend on his phone saying the party was over. He was halfway through the text when suddenly, from out of the bushes, leapt a man wearing all black. A black mask, black clothes, black gloves, black shoes. He jumped onto Sam, forcing him to drop his phone, and tackled him to the ground. They fought for a while, yelps and groans escaping into the air. Eventually Sam pulled out the sledgehammer from a tote bag he was also carrying. He hit the man over the head with it, which caused the man to fall over and lay on the ground in pain. Sam took advantage of that as his eyes turned bright red and started smashing the man's face into a bloody pulp. Sam stood up, sledgehammer in hand, thinking "What have I done..". He stared at he bloody sledgehammer, eventually grabbed his bag and phone, and walked away like nothing happened.

When he got home, he washed off the sledgehammer. He felt different as he cleaned it off - almost a sinister type of feeling rising. Once it was cleaned, he dried it, and since it was around 11 at night he went to bed. He lay in bed, twiddling with the hammer, thinking about what he did that night. Hoping he didn't get caught. Wishing he could have had another victim. He quickly pushed the last thought of his mind, surprised at how he could have thought such a thing. Then the thoughts and feelings grew more malevolent. Sam had no idea where this was coming from. He felt the sudden urge to do something with his hammer, yet he didn't know what. He got up and went to the bathroom after grabbing some tape. Using his left hand, he taped the sledgehammer to his right hand, feeling satisfied. He went back to bed and slept.

When Sam woke up, he rubbed his eyes, then checked his arm. He found a monstrosity on his hand. His skin had grown over the hammer in one night, and now he had a hammer for a hand. He wasn't surprised, nor was he scared. He was quite pleased. His new state of mind was based on death. And his hammer.

The first thing he did after he got out of bed was go to the bathroom and examine his hand for real. His fingers were no more; they had intertwined with the hammer in his sleep and also grown over. The entire hammer was engulfed in skin, forcing the neon green to hide under the pale, stretchy covering. He turned to look in the mirror only to find that his eyes were already red. He suddenly felt very evil, almost like a dark hatred rising in him. Quickly, he tried to cover most of the hammer with his sleeve. He walked out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where his mother was making breakfast.

He stood calmly in the doorway until she turned around and said, "Good morning!"

He then barreled towards her, feeling a sudden burst of rage, his eyes flashing red, holding up his hammer which lit up through his skin. She stood, eyes wide, scared and trembling as he approached her. Once he reached her, he smashed her on the head with it, forcing her to fall over and hit her shoulder on the counter.

She yelped and screamed as he kept pounding her with clenched teeth. He beat her until she was a bloody mess. He examined his hammer, which was stained with blood. He laughed to himself, thinking “That felt.. amazing.” It was still dark out, the sun hadn’t even risen an inch. It looked as if it was midnight. He strolled over to the kitchen window with a huge smirk on his face, leaving his mother on the floor leaned up against a cabinet splattered in blood. He stared into the woods, thinking about who his next victim could be. He then smashed the window open with a quick thrust of his hammer, jumped through, and ran off into the woods.

That night, he killed 7 people in their sleep. One of those was his father. I should know. I hated my father.