The mailbox was hunting me.  Every move I made around the mailbox was with cunning and, of course, fear.  It's simple enough, or so you would think—a traditional mailbox.  Essentially it looked like a Norman window, with depth.  The only difference between this mailbox and all others was that this one was not bolted into the ground on a post.  This one was simply allowed to lie on my front patio.  That was the fatal flaw.  If a mailbox isn't bolted down, it is free. 

            A few nights ago I heard a tapping on my window.  It was slow, methodical, and chilling.  It's simply a tree branch, I said to myself.  But there isn't a tree in my yard.  This thought sent me into chills.  There I lay in my bed, subtly shaking with fear, knowing that between me and the outside was a thin pane of glass and some blinds.  I got hold of myself and decided to look out the window.  All the while the tapping was bearing down on me.  I grasped the bottom corner of the blinds and slowly lifted.  The tapping stopped, and I ripped up the blinds.  There was nothing there!  Wait, what was that?  Out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving.  I quickly looked and there, like a two-foot spider, was my mailbox.  It was stealthily darting down the side of my house.  It reached the ground and looked up.  For a moment, just a moment, our eyes focused on each other.  Rather, my eyes and two screw holes on the front panel of the box.  It was the most chilling thing I have ever seen.  Those dark brooding holes leading into the inside of the mailbox, no doubt filled with the entrails of junk mail and the twisted shards of envelopes that never made it out.  The mailbox then darted around the corner of the house, probably to perch on the porch.  I closed the blinds, made sure the window was locked, and then checked the door, just in case. 

            The next day was Saturday, the last day of the week to receive mail.  I knew I had to go get it.  I got a broomstick and slyly curled around the front door.  I stood motionless and surveyed the mailbox.  There it rested, mundane and innocent, a hollow metal box.  But I knew more.  I wasn't fooled by its die-cast dreariness.  The mailbox seemed to be asleep, or something.  I approached it slowly, and gave it a quick thwack with the broom handle, just to make sure it knew who was in charge.  All the while my next door neighbor, Ed, was staring at me.  He was weeding in his front yard, kneeling over a manicured bed of azaleas.  He was wearing cheap red shorts and a tight Looney Tunes t-shirt (with the Tasmanian Devil on it) stretched around his bulbous body.  He was also wearing one of those yellow headphone radios, the kind that's twice as large as your head and went out with the seventies.  Ed began staring at me.  I pointed awkwardly at my mailbox and told him that I thought a rat was in it.  I don't think he heard me through his headphones.  He shook his head up and down, his face glazed over with a look of confusion, and then went back to weeding.  There I stood, towering over my mailbox.  I slowly bent down to it and carefully forced the lid open.  Everything seemed to be okay.  There was a small stack of letters and one of those annoying yellow hardware store circulars.  With one hand I quickly grabbed them but just when I began to close the lid it slammed on my hand.  The pain was excruciating and I thought I might lose a finger.  I began to beat the mailbox furiously with the broom.  Ed was so frightened by my sudden convulsions that he fell back into a small bag of organic fertilizer.  He lay there rolling on his back like a beetle and I ran inside, doing my best to collect all the letters that had scattered in front of the door.  As I slammed the door shut, I heard a sinister chuckling.  At this point I knew I was facing something that was truly evil. 

            I called the post office to see if I could rent a P.O. Box.  They told me that they would have one open in a week.  I cussed out the lady and slammed the phone down.  I nervously paced the house until dusk.  The night grew dark.  The moon wasn't out and the clouds blocked out all the stars.  I turned on the TV and all the channels were layered with static except Channel 43.  Unfortunately, the only thing that Channel 43 played was old Dragnet episodes.  Despite the coffee I was imbibing, I quickly fell asleep.  After a needed reprieve, I slid into consciousness hearing a faint tapping on the window.  Joe Friday was babbling about the weather, so I found no consolation in him.  I turned off the TV.  The tapping became louder and louder.  I was stricken by fear but finally decided to ambush the mailbox.  I went out the side door and crept along the side of the house; peeking around the corner I saw it—outside the second story window was the hideous mailbox!  I grabbed a brick and tiptoed under it.  As I threw up the brick, the mailbox swiftly turned around, its cold hollow eyes again latched onto mine.  Suddenly I felt a heavy blow on my head.  I regained consciousness shortly after dawn; I was laying in my backyard.  There beside my head was the brick.  I clutched at the bump on my head and staggered inside.  Ed was doing some early morning gardening and just stared at me unhappily. 

            I took a shower and once again prepared to get the mail.  This time I would face the mailbox weaponless.  It was time to settle this.  I brusquely opened the front door and looked at it.  Any passerby would think it was just some ordinary mailbox.  It just sat there, acting like it was normal.  As I grasped the lid and ripped it open, the mailbox shifted a little; it was quite heavy.  Strangely, a pair of small (normal) eyes met mine.  A horribly frightened café-colored Chihuahua leapt out and ran down the street yelping.  "You cruel beast," I screamed at the mailbox.  Now, inside I could see nothing,  until I vaguely spotted a small letter in the darkest corner; it seemed so far away  There was one ray of light coming through a screw hole on the side of the mailbox; otherwise, it was pitch black.  Just then, I realized it was Sunday and that no mail was supposed to come today.  Nevertheless, I was obsessed by this mysterious letter.  I slowly put my hand near the mailbox, then in it.  I reached and reached, it seemed there was no end.  Suddenly, I felt the small letter in my hand.  A look of excitement flashed across my face, followed by a look of infinite terror.  The mailbox had slammed shut on my arm.  I wasn't sure if I even had an arm.  I jumped up screaming, the mailbox veritably fused to my left arm, which I slammed against the front door; it caused an awful dent in the black mailbox.  I then ripped around and slammed it on the porch support—another deep dent.  I stumbled down the front stairs and into the yard.  I repeatedly beat my arm, or the mailbox, against the ground.  On about the fiftieth hit the mailbox slivered off.  It was horribly dented,  though it still retained its basic form.  I grabbed it with both hands and began to slam it on the sidewalk.  Ed had since run from around the side of his house.  He was wearing his big headphones and carrying a small shovel in his right hand.  I bolted right past him towards the garage, carrying the mailbox; my enraged eyes briefly met his.  His face was painted over with sheer horror.  I ripped up the garage door and threw the mailbox on the workbench.  I pulled the bent lid down and slammed a nail through it.  It was now immobilized.  I grabbed my drill and put a special stripper attachment on it.  I began to whittle away its outer shell.  It wriggled furiously like a fish in the bottom of a boat.  The mailbox made a high pitched screaming sound and sparks, like fire-flies, danced from its body into the air.  I expected to find the silver hue of the base metal but the more I ground into the metal the darker it got.  I then grabbed my circular saw and began to shred the mailbox.  The black chunks hit the floor—lifeless and cold.  I continued to demolish the mailbox.  Ed had sat down in his front yard and was still motionless, literally enveloped by fear.  His flower patterned right glove held the garden shovel motionless in the air.  I gathered all the broken pieces of the mailbox and deposited them in my trashcan.  A feeling of true peace came over me.  I knew I had nothing to fear any more. 

            I went out later that day and purchased a nice brass mail slot, the kind you just put on your front door.  After installing it, I felt a streak of fear come over me.  I went to the garage and looked into the trash can.  All the pieces were gone!  But there in the bottom of the trashcan was a small letter.  It was the one I had felt earlier.  It had a collegiate crest in the upper left hand corner.  It was a thin envelope and I knew what it said.  I grabbed a lighter from my workbench and ignited it; I watched the collegiate crest wrinkle as it was consumed by the flames.  The mailbox had had the last laugh.