The alley behind the Acheron Lounge was dark. The single bulb hung over an old beaten metal door set in the dirty brick wall made the dark seem deeper, more impenetrable. It swung in a breeze below a large, dented shade and cast constantly changing shadows down the length of the alley. The shifting light made the graffiti dance as if alive, made the garbage bins morph as the shadows played over the surfaces, turning them from ordinary to sinister. At the other end, past the old brick building, was the Acheron.

Suddenly, a mad impulse. Hardly believing himself capable of such a thing, he grabbed the guitar, turned, and ran out of the shop.

It was obvious The Judge didn’t get, nor encouraged visitors. After some searching, Jacob found the entrance to the overgrown two-wheel track that twisted through a dense strip of trees. It was rough, riddled with potholes, high dry grass, and weeds that had grown up through the gravel. The track broke from the trees, revealing a massive automotive graveyard.

John frowned and looked at the dog. The dog looked back.

“Yes, Mr. December, many questions.”

So here he stood in the dark, waiting for The Judge to roll up in a shiny dark car and grant him his deepest wish.

It was the guitar calling to him.