One Door From Heaven

of the vehicle, but he can't see much of what lies beyond it.
        Staying closer than Curtis intended, the dog presses against his legs and pushes her nose to the gap between jamb and door. He hears her sniffing. Her exceptional sense of smell brings to her more information than all five human senses combined, so he doesn't nudge her out of the way.
        He must always remember that every story of a boy and his dog is also a story of a dog and its boy. No such relationship can be a success without respect.
        The dog’s tail wags, brushing Curtis's legs, either because she catches an appealing scent or because she agrees with his assessment of the fundamental requirement of a boy-dog friendship.
        Suddenly a man enters the bathroom from the front of the motor home.
        In the dark bedroom, Curtis almost shuts the door in shock. He realizes just in time that the one-inch gap won't draw the man's attention as much as will the movement of the door closing.
        He expects the guy to come directly to the bedroom, and he's ready to use the door as a battering ram to knock this killer off his feet. Then he and the dog will dash for freedom.
        Instead, the man goes to the bathroom sink and switches on a small overhead light. Standing in profile to Curtis, he examines his face in the mirror.
        Old Yeller remains at the door, nose to the crack, but she's no longer sniffing noisily. She's in stealth mode, though her tail continues to wag gently.
        Although scared, Curtis is also intrigued. There's something fascinating about secretly watching strangers in their own home, even if their home is on wheels.
        The man squints at the mirror. He rubs one finger over the right corner of his mouth, squints again, and seems satisfied. With two fingers, he pulls down both lower eyelids and examines his eyes- God knows for what. Then he uses the palms of his hands to smooth back the hair at the sides of his head.
        Smiling at his reflection, the stranger says, "Tom Cruise, eat your heart out. Vern Tuttle rules."
        Curtis doesn't know who Vern Tuttle may be, but Tom Cruise is, of course, an actor, a movie star, a worldwide icon. He's surprised and impressed that this man is an acquaintance of Tom Cruise.
        He's heard people say that it's a small world, and this Cruise connection sure does support that contention.
        Next, the man grins at his reflection. This is not an amusing grin. Even viewed in profile, it's an exaggerated, ferocious grin. He leans over the sink, closer to the mirror, and studies his bared teeth with unnervingly intense interest.
        Curtis is disturbed but not surprised by this development. He already knows that one or both of these people are homicidal tooth fetishists.
        More disturbing even than the grinning man's obsession with his teeth is the fact that otherwise he appears entirely normal. Pudgy, about sixty, with a full head of thick white hair, he might play a grandfather if he were ever in a major motion picture; but he would never be cast as a chainsaw-wielding maniac.
        Many of the same folks who say that it's a small world have also said you can't judge a book by its cover, meaning people as well as books, and now they are proved right again.
        Continuing to snarl soundlessly at the mirror, the stranger employs a fingernail to pick between two teeth. He examines whatever is now on his finger, frowns, looks closer, and finally flicks the bit of stuff into the sink.
        Curtis shudders. His fevered imagination supplies numerous chilling possibilities for what was dislodged from those teeth, all related to the well-known fact that most serial killers are also cannibals.
        Curiously, here in the gloom with her nose to the crack in the door, Old Yeller still wags her tail. She hasn't acquired Curtis's dread of this human monster. She seems to have an opinion of her own, to which she stubbornly clings. The boy worries about the reliability of her animal instincts.
        The likely cannibal clicks off the sink light, turns, and crosses the bathroom to the small cubicle that contains the toilet. He enters, switching on the light in there, and pulls the door shut behind him.
        The boy's mother used to say that a wasted opportunity wasn't just a missed chance, but was a wound to your future. Miss too many opportunities, thus sustaining too many wounds, and you wouldn't have a future at