No one takes Southwest Avenue out of Folmun. Legends say it literally leads to nowhere. Even the decrepit billboard over the highway reads Nothing. Jaxon would love to attribute the rumors to superstition, but he’d grown up in “Full Moon City” where supernatural was passé.

His sometime girlfriend Sergeant Lupe Martinez had sent him to follow up on a lead while her squad handled “real” police work.

“That’s me, private investigator for hire. Got a job that will probably get your guys killed? Send the black guy in.” Jaxon reconsidered choosing a red shirt that morning and laughed. “I hope you’re right about this one Lupe.” Jaxon stepped on the pedal and pulled onto the highway.

A few hours of desert mesa, with little only the occasional cactus for scenery had Jaxon ready to turn around, then he saw the sign.

The End of the Road. “Who, in their right mind, would stop at a diner with a name like that?” He passed a life-like statue at the front door, then another, in a pose of absolute terror – stone pieces of his heart on the floor.

He dialed Lupe.

“I see them,” Lupe said. “Hang tight, I’m sending backup.”

200 words from the world of “Full Moon City”

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