The Little Red Mallet
11:47 PM
The city was quiet.
Not peaceful.
Quiet.
There was a difference.
Rain tapped against the windows of an old apartment building on the east side of the city. Most of the lights inside the building were already off.
Almost everyone was asleep.
Almost.
Apartment 3B still had its lights on.
Inside, Evan Mercer, twenty-seven, sat alone on his couch with a half-eaten pizza beside him.
The television played quietly.
He wasn’t watching it.
His attention was on his phone.
BANG.
Evan looked toward the front door.
He waited.
Nothing.
He turned back toward his phone.
BANG.
This time, louder.
Evan slowly stood.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
He walked toward the door.
Another sound came from the hallway.
Tap.
…
Tap.
…
Tap.
Evan frowned.
“What the hell?”
He looked through the peephole.
The hallway was empty.
He opened the door.
Nothing.
Just an empty hallway.
Evan stepped outside.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Then he noticed something.
Sitting directly in front of his apartment door was a tiny red rubber mallet.
Evan stared at it.
It looked like a child’s toy.
Bright red rubber head.
Short wooden handle.
Completely harmless.
He picked it up.
It was surprisingly heavy.
“What the…”
A faint sound came from behind him.
A whisper.
“Mine.”
Evan froze.
He slowly turned around.
At the end of the hallway stood a man.
Thin.
Motionless.
Wearing a cracked porcelain mask.
The mask had a huge grin carved across its face.
A grin that looked almost cheerful.
Almost.
The rest of him was covered in torn black cloth, leather straps, and hanging chains.
His head tilted slightly.
Like a confused puppet.
Evan dropped the mallet.
It hit the floor.
THUMP.
“Who are you?”
The masked man didn’t answer.
He simply walked forward.
Evan backed away.
“Hey…”
The man’s footsteps were slow.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Evan turned and ran back into his apartment.
He slammed the door.
Locked it.
Then locked the deadbolt.
He stood against the door, breathing heavily.
“What the fuck…”
He grabbed his phone.
No signal.
Of course.
“Come on…”
He tried calling 911.
Nothing.
Then—
KNOCK.
Evan stopped breathing.
Three slow knocks.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
Evan stared at the door.
A whisper came from the other side.
“Knock…”
Silence.
Then—
“…knock.”
Evan stepped away.
“No.”
He grabbed a kitchen knife.
His hands were shaking.
The doorknob slowly turned.
Evan backed toward the kitchen.
The door opened.
The masked man stepped inside.
Evan swung the knife.
The blade struck the man’s shoulder.
He didn’t react.
Evan’s eyes widened.
“What are you?”
The man slowly looked down at the knife.
Then back at Evan.
A faint red glow appeared behind the mask.
He reached into his coat.
Evan raised the knife again.
The man pulled something out.
The little red mallet.
Evan stared at it.
For the first time, he understood.
The toy wasn’t a toy.
The Malletman raised it.
Evan ran.
THUD.
The mallet struck the wall beside him.
The impact cracked the drywall.
Evan screamed.
He stumbled into the living room.
The Malletman followed.
Evan grabbed a chair and swung it.
The masked killer ducked.
The chair smashed against the wall.
Evan ran toward the window.
He had nowhere else to go.
He grabbed the curtains.
The Malletman suddenly appeared behind him.
Evan turned.
The red mallet was already coming down.
CRACK.
The screen went black.
12:16 AM
The police arrived twenty-nine minutes later.
Two officers entered Apartment 3B.
The television was still running.
The pizza was still sitting on the table.
The front door was wide open.
One officer walked toward the living room.
He stopped.
His face changed.
“Jesus…”
The second officer stepped inside.
“What?”
The first officer pointed toward the wall.
There was a deep impact mark in the drywall.
But that wasn’t what scared him.
On the floor beneath it was a tiny red rubber mallet.
Covered in blood.
The second officer stared at it.
“That’s a toy.”
The first officer shook his head.
“No.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“It’s a murder weapon.”
THE NEXT MORNING
News traveled quickly.
By sunrise, everyone in the neighborhood had heard about the murder.
But the strangest part wasn’t the victim.
It wasn’t even the condition of the apartment.
It was the weapon.
A tiny red mallet.
Nobody knew where it came from.
Nobody knew who the killer was.
And nobody knew why the police couldn’t find him.
But people started talking.
At first, it was just a rumor.
Then another person claimed they’d seen him.
Then another.
A cracked porcelain face.
Black clothes.
A little red mallet.
And eventually, somebody gave him a name.
Malletman.
The name sounded ridiculous.
Almost childish.
Until another body was found.
Then another.
And another.
Three murders.
Three locations.
One weapon.
A tiny red mallet.
And suddenly, nobody was laughing anymore.
Because somewhere in the city…
A man wearing a permanent grin was walking through the darkness.
Carrying the little red mallet.
Waiting for someone to hear the sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
And when the knocking came…
It was already too late.
END OF CHAPTER 1
