I moved the blade of the letter opener under the flap and started to tear at the seal when it began to shake uncontrollably in my right hand. I dropped the letter to the carpeted floor, and gripped the opener with both hands, trying to control its now wild and dangerous jerks.

"Bobby?" she asked concerned.

I gripped it tight and struggled in exaggerated corrections trying to counter the unseen force moving the knife.

"Bobby, stop it, this ain't funny."

I couldn't muster the clarity to speak or the strength to subdue whatever was now wielding the blade.

"Bobby, you're frightening me."

I lost my balance and was knocked out of my chair and onto the floor by those unseen hands. My grip on the opener released when I hit the floor and the blade flew unnaturally far across the room, landing ten feet away on the green carpet.

Mother began screaming loudly. Her long shrills came in steady, predictable bursts between short gasps of air. I didn't take my eyes off the blade that lay motionless on the carpet, its sharp tip pointed at me. I was on all fours staring at it, looking for any sign of movement. I could hear my own breathing over mother's shrill screams. I turned my head slightly toward her while keeping both eyes focused on the letter opener. When I turned my head so far that it was in view of only one eye, the letter opener moved. I froze and watched it with that one eye. The point of the blade raised up three inches off the carpet and hung there abnormally, quivering ever so slightly each time I exhaled. Her loud screaming was becoming as monotonous as the dripping water had been. The blade still trembled menacingly with each exhale.

I knew what I had to do. If I could only concentrate hard enough I could make the knife stop moving. I could make the knife stop moving. Make the knife stop moving. Stop moving. But I couldn't concentrate with that damn woman screaming like that. I stared and concentrated on the knife until it stopped quivering. She stopped screaming when it did.

"Bobby honey, don't play like that, it's dangerous," she said in that sweet motherly voice I'd known as her child.

I involuntarily turned to look at her and saw the silver flash of the blade as it whizzed past my eyes on its way to the far wall where it plunged two inches deep into the wood paneling.

She smiled at me with a mildly scolding, coy look that was almost seductive. I could see the knife wiggling free from the wall out of the corner of my eye.