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Hammer on the Wall by ADLR04
Most horror stories focus on the killer. This one focuses on the weapon. It’s a perspective you don’t see often—totally cold and literal. Check it out below.
I found this short piece in an old forum archive. It’s written from the perspective of a hammer in a garage, and it gets dark fast. If you’ve ever looked at a tool in your shed and wondered what it’s “seen,” this is going to mess with you.
I’m a hammer, a tool used by humans to drive nails into wood. I would say I do my job well.
I hang on the pegboard in my owner’s garage, neatly displayed with the rest of the tools my owner uses like saw, ax, and shovel.
I hang on the pegboard waiting to be used. I’m so happy when my owner pulls me off the pegboard for a project, or one of his kids comes into the garage and picks me up and pretends to be like their father.
Sometimes when the kids take me off the wall they smash my head into the driveway or the dirt, getting me filthy in the process, my owner always takes some time to clean my and the rest of his tools.
Recently, I’ve been hearing my owner’s car speed out of the driveway. I wonder why he could ever be in such a hurry.
I hear my owner breathing heavy and his footsteps are heavier than usual. I’m also not hearing the kids, they must be at grandpa’s house.
All of a sudden I’m covered in something warm, my owner must be driving a nail into the dirt as deep as he can, he keeps going.
I’m very hot, first, he ran me under hot water then he took a blow torch to me, he must want me especially clean.
I heard my owner grab shovel, hand saw, and drive off in his car. He must be making a fence for someone.
I hear my owner is back, but he didn’t put saw and shovel back, maybe he’ll do it in the morning.
The kids are back from grandpa’s, they are asking where mommy is, I hear my owner say she is at her mother’s.
It’s been a while since I’ve heard from my owner’s wife. I heard one of the kids call his grandma and she said that my owner’s wife had not been there for a while.
I hear the kids say that “daddy did something”, I wonder what he did.
Saw and shovel still aren’t hanging up. I wonder if my owner forgot them at that place he went to one nite.
My owner grabs me from the pegboard and I hear running, screaming, and finally, thumping, then I feel that warm feeling again, my head is covered in something.
My owner continues to walk in a doorway. I presume, then I feel that sensation from before again, it feels great.
I feel the footsteps of my owner, he seems to be pacing back and forth, he seems distressed about something, he slams my head into the hard drywall, that didn’t feel so good.
I hear a loud bang then I am dropped onto the floor. I wonder when my owner will pick me up.
I feel a long passage of time, now I hear a lot of footsteps around me, I am then placed into a bag.
These people say something about my owner as they place me in a cardboard box.
It’s so dark.
