Area Orthodontist Evil

Area orthodontist Hal Brukenheimer, 37, is happy with his job. He operates a moderately successful orthodontic practice and goes home to "three healthy sets of teeth" at night.

But there is something indescribably sinister about Brukenheimer -- the way that his eyes shift from left to right when he talks, for instance, or the way that he walks as if perpetually sneaking up on someone.

Or, possibly, even in the way that he tortures helpless children for a living.

"I was a normal child," Brukenheimer claims. "I did the normal kid stuff, like selling lemonade and riding bikes [and torturing small animals with kitchen knives]."

In Brukenheimer's dental office, which he reigns over with a malicious majesty reminiscent of many religions' view of Satan reigning over Hell, his patients cower like cows led to the slaughter, the musical cacophony of pain-induced screams issuing from the operating room.

"It's a cheery place," Brukenheimer notes, visibly taking pleasure in the aura of fear which he elicits. "I think the kids really like me [before they learn of the pain which I revel in producing in their poor prepubescent mouths]."

His terrorism not confined to his office, Brukenheimer is generally regarded by the neighborhood children to be the epitome of evil.

"On Halloween," one frightened youth remembers, "we got up our courage and went to the old Brukenheimer place. Tommy, the bravest, ate sugar daddies until he felt he could approach the door and knock. It opened, slowly revealing a form barely discernable for the light coming from behind. The dark figure raised its hand, and visage leering, dropped a toothbrush and an apple into Tommy's bag! We dress up as some pretty scary stuff, but I'm not even interested in hearing what twisted, evil force could take hold of a man and cause him to act like that."

The youth shudders, looking over his shoulder, and asks, "Do you think he can hear me?"

Brukenheimer does manage to terrorize the children on days other than Halloween. In his basement, surrounded by dripping pipes and the far-off screams of long-lost dental patients, he keeps his plaster dental molds. Some hang creepily, ghastly wind chimes suspended from twine and stirring in a wind whose source is unknown but doubtlessly infernal. Some are on his workbench, surrounded by various pointy instruments of torture. Yet others are packed in boxes, waiting to be opened and experimented on.

When questioned about the plaster dental molds and their possible substitution for voodoo dolls, Brukenheimer laughed an uncomfortable, sinister laugh -- almost as if he were attempting but not quite succeeding to hide the boundless evils which unquestionably lurk in his mind; horrors not even imaginable by one outside the dental profession, one would imagine.

He then responded, 'It is helpful for me to keep records of my patients' tooth structures, in case [segment deleted] [one decides he no longer needs me]."

Brukenheimer then let out an extremely sinister and malicious-sounding silent laugh, and this columnist escaped post-haste.

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