Hammer Johannsen

Avenging Northwoods Outdoorsman

Last Update: XX/XX/XX

E-MAIL: hammersexteriors@gmail.com
HOME ADDRESS: 12834 Hwy 22, Togo, MN

PROFESSION: Business Owner – Hammer’s Exteriors
BUSINESS ADDRESS: 11196 Dupont Rd, Hibbing, MN


VIRTUE: Xxxxxx
VICE: Xxxxx



Intelligence X; Wits X; Resolve X
Strength X; Dexterity X; Stamina X
Presence X; Manipulation X; Composure X


Xxxxxxx (Xxxxxx) X; Xxxxxx (Xxxxxx) X; Xxxxxxx X;
Xxxxxxx X; Xxxxxxx X; Xxxxxxx X;
Xxxxxxx X; Xxxxxxx X;


Merits: Xxxxx X; Xxxxx X;
Health: X
Willpower: X
Size: X
Speed: XX
Defense: X
Initiative Mod: X



Weapons: Blessed Rosary
Gear: Xxxxxx, Xxxxxx, Xxxxxx
Cash: $XXX
Francis “Hammer” Johannsen
“Vengeful Northwoods Outdoorsman”
Age: 30

My name is Hammer, well it’s Francis, but not many people on this earth can get away with calling me that. In fact, you’re likely to get your ass kicked if you call me Francis. In my previous life, I was a successful contractor in north eastern Minnesota. I built monstrous cabins for the yuppie fucks to come vacation in for 2 months out of the year. Unbelievable, the amount of money some people have to piss away, but hey, it made me a damn good living.

You may wonder why I say “previous life”, so I’ll tell you my story. On Sunday, November 14th, 2010 my life ended. I had taken my wife, Krista, and 7 year old son, Gunner, to the deer shack for the opening of deer season. That morning I left for the stand 45 minutes before sunrise and didn’t return back to the cabin until nightfall. I remember it being weird as hell in the woods that day. I didn’t see, or even hear, shit. It was like the universe had stopped. It was calm and beautiful, but frustrating as hell. When I got near the shack I yelled out for my wife to let her know I was on my way up the drive. She was always worried about things banging through the woods, so we had a system: I’d yell out, and she’d have some smart-assed reply. Usually something like, “Oh you’re back? We can go home and sleep in a real bed then?” God, what I would give to hear her bitch about following my ass out to the woods just one more time. Anyway, I called out and got no response. This wasn’t normal, but no cause for alarm as she had talked about running in to town when I woke her up that morning. It was odd she would run that late, but I thought she may have just been bored off her ass. I walked up to the shack, put my gun in the rack on the porch, and pushed the door open. All I could smell was blood. The horrible stench will forever be etched in my brain. I burst through the doorway to find my wife and son torn to shreds in my living room. They looked as if they had been attacked by a pack of wolves. My life was over. I did nothing but sob until I vomited for what seemed like an eternity before I could bring myself to call for help. The Sheriff arrived and immediately called the DNR as it was obvious that my family was ravaged by some sort of animal. Everything happened so quickly that I took notice of nothing else in the home. I left that night with the intention of never returning. 3 months later my depression was at its darkest and my drinking at the worst it had ever been. My mother convinced me that I needed to grieve properly and get my life back on track. That’s what “Krista and Gunner would have wanted” she would tell me. We were blessed with an early spring in 2011, so I decided to take my brother and father to the shack to tear that fucker down. I was set on selling the property. When we arrived my brother insisted we take some belongings out before the demo. I did not want to go in, but they forced me. The room had been cleaned up a bit since I was last in it. My mom had hired a commercial cleaning company to make a lot of the blood go away, and some of the furniture had been removed. Then, it hit me. How the fuck did an animal big enough to do that much damage to my family get in my shack. The patio door was open, but the screen was undisturbed. The lamp was knocked over, but unbroken. How? This led me to ask, who? But how could it by a “who?” when they were clawed and bitten. How did I not ask questions before? I immediately went to my computer and looked up animal attacks in the northwoods. I found hunters and hikers attacked by bear, mountain lions, wolves, etc., but that was nothing like what happened here. I had to find something. I spent 4 hours pouring through articles about attacks before my brother and father said they were sick of waiting for me to help them. They had packed up just about everything except the chair I was sitting on. I told them I was trying to find out what happened to my family. They both thought I flipped shit and started to try and calmly explain. I screamed at them for feeding me the same bull shit and told them to leave me there to read. We were never good at communicating so they left me to my thoughts. My brother’s cabin was just down the road, and it was already getting late so they went to set up for the night. I kept reading. I made a few phone calls to the DNR to ask about similar attacks and no one would give me answers. I stayed up all night reading. My dad and brother came in the next morning to find I had unpacked the kitchen to find the goddamn coffee, and I was still on my laptop…reading. I told them we wouldn’t be tearing the shack down that weekend, and I think they thought it a good, but odd, sign. I stayed there for four more days. In those four days I finally found similar attacks, but it seemed like bull shit ghost stories. Something the Ojibwa call a wendigo. It fit the entire pattern: home mostly undisturbed, occupants torn apart by claws and bites, happens mainly in heavily wooded areas; crazy, right? I thought so too. Until reading everything I could find about them. Days on end of crime scene photos, blog entries, supernatural phenomena boards, everything. I was convinced this is what killed my family and I was going to find it, torture it, and avenge my wife and son. 3 months….I found every baiting, summoning, blood ritual, everything to call this fucker back to my cabin. It took 3 months. They’re smart and keen hunters, but I’m better. I trapped that big yellow-eyed bastard and made sure he was alive while I filleted his hide off his body. Its screams were what nightmares are made of and I reveled in it. That night I slept like a baby. It was then 6 months since my wife and son had died and I gave up my business. I had a lot of savings built up and decided to sell our home and live at the cabin. Everyone thought I had lost my mind. All I did now was sit in the living room, where my family was killed, and read. I have since been hunting all matter of evil supernatural beings. I have always loved the thrill of the hunt, but nothing compares to killing something that rightfully should not exist. I have spent the last year hunting down spirits, demons, and my favorite; the wendigo. I was hell-bent on ridding the Northland of their filth since my first kill. The internet will lead you to anything as long as you know what to look for. I have come across a lot of open hunter forums, which has now led me to the Twin Cities. There seems to be a lot more work I am looking for going on down here. I found a hunter cell out of Minneapolis that was having a wendigo problem around Lake Minnetonka, and I offered my services to help eradicate. On the mission I met a good priest named Father John Kaiser. This man is a fountain of knowledge and well respected in the hunting community. It is also very apparent he and I share the same flare for the hunt. I decided to move to the area in hopes of working with the cell further.

Hammer Johannsen

Minneapolis: Behind the Veil mmcla305