The Neverglades: Volume Two: The Neverglades, #2

By David Farrow

The Neverglades have seen their fair share of supernatural phenomena over the years, but a new threat has arisen in town: the Semblance, a shapeshifting entity with a centuries-old grudge against the Inspector. Plagued by walking nightmares and unable to trust even their own neighbors, the people of Pacific Glade have never faced a more insidious foe.

Thankfully the Inspector and Sheriff Olivia Marconi are on the case. But the Semblance knows how to hit the Inspector where it hurts, and their battle puts more than their own lives in jeopardy. Specters of the dead, prehistoric time travel, haunted hotels, mysterious otherworldly dimensions - this could be the duo's deadliest adventure yet.

It's going to take everything in Marconi's power to protect the people she loves. But it's a dangerous multiverse out there, and the Inspector may not always be there to bail her out...

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Farrow
• Release date: Apr 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201440930

Book preview

The Neverglades

~ volume two ~

DAVID FARROW

illustrated by  CHRIS BODILY

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Lance Buckley

Illustrations by Chris Bodily

Copyright © 2020 David Farrow

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To the Eternal Easters –

Thanks for taking this journey with me one more time.

CONTENTS

A NEVERGLADES HALLOWEEN

October’s a pretty solemn affair in Pacific Glade. The rest of the country loves this time of year: an excuse to embrace their inner darkness, to turn the very real horrors of the world into bedsheet ghosts and warty witches and things that go bump in the night. But our town has ghosts of a different kind. They sit at our kitchen tables, they walk the sidewalks with us, they wrap us in their phantom arms as we lie awake in bed, missing them.

Disaster does that to a town. It’s been over a year since the quake that ripped through the Neverglades, and by now we’ve repaired what can be repaired. Homes have been rebuilt. Schools are back in session. The Hanging Rock is once again serving drinks and getting the good people of Pacific Glade shitfaced on Saturday nights. But for the people who lost friends and family in the quake - people like me - there’s still a broken piece in us, a piece that even time hasn’t been able to set properly.

So for us, October is a time to remember. All the spooks of the season can’t hold a candle to the legacy of the dead.

MY SON STEPHEN HAS grown apathetic towards Halloween over the last couple of years - something about being a high school senior has made him too cool for it, I expect - but he still loves the tradition of picking out a pumpkin for the front stoop. Sheriff Marconi and her wife, Janine, came with us this year to find the perfect one. The farm down on Minnow Street had a nice selection, and as we wandered down the rows, sipping hot cider and hunkering in our jackets, I felt a little of the seasonal sadness leave me.

Stephen and I had been left aimless after the quake. But Gladers look after their own, and Olivia and Janine had offered us something we’d lost: a home. We were a makeshift family, brought together by tragedy, but even a makeshift family has its own familiar comforts. The fragrant aromas of Janine’s cooking. The white noise (or classic rock, sometimes) that Olivia uses to fall asleep. The swing in the backyard where Stephen often goes to read. We’ve fallen into a routine that’s easy, natural. It’s not the same as it used to be. But it’s home.

Sometimes I go down to Locklear Cemetery to visit my other family. Stephen hasn’t come with me in several months - of the two of us, I think I’ve always had the harder time letting go - so when I went the other day, it was just me winding my way through the gravestones. The afternoon was heavy with that late October chill. I clutched the flowers I’d brought and wrapped my coat tightly around me.

Leaves were strewn across the ground in front of my husband’s grave, so I brushed them aside. There was already a bushel of flowers laid beneath his headstone. Each petal was a bright, vivid purple, and I knew the Inspector had been here - Mark’s old partner on the force.  He’d been a regular presence in Olivia’s house ever since Mark’s death, coming over to sit with us at meals or tell us stories of his latest case. I didn’t know he’d been a visitor here as well. Somehow I had a hard time imagining the Inspector, in all his stoicism, feeling grief. I guess there was more of a man in him than I’d thought.

I plucked a few flowers from my own bushel and laid them on Mark’s grave. Then I placed the rest of the bunch beneath Rory’s headstone. My son, too, had his own display of purple petals, and I was touched at the Inspector’s thoughtfulness. I brushed a bit of lichen from the letters in his name. Then I left my family there, slumbering quietly, to return home for the night.

WHEN THE INSPECTOR told us the next morning that he was throwing a Halloween party for the police force, you could have heard a pin drop. He couldn’t have shocked the room more if he’d announced he was running for President. Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to turn and look at him. Olivia nearly choked on her cup of coffee.

Seriously? she asked, wiping her lips with a sleeve. I mean - sorry, Inspector. That was rude. You just don’t seem like the party type.

An understatement if I’d ever heard one. The Inspector was tall, thin, and gray as a statue, and he spent most of his time hidden in a cloud of smoke from his ever-present cigar. He was a friend - family, even - and our town owed him a tremendous debt. But his shadow still darkened every room he stepped into, and his presence had a foreboding quality, like he was always about to deliver bad news.

Morale has been low, he said in his gravelly voice. Not just at the station, but all over town. I thought it might be good to get everyone in the spirit of the season. To remind us that it’s still okay to have fun and enjoy each other's company.

It’s not going to be, like... actually scary, right? Stephen asked. He had paused in the middle of his bowl of cereal. Like your usual kind of stuff?

We all knew what Stephen meant. Unnatural things were drawn to the Inspector like a magnet, and there was no telling what otherworldly beings might poke their faces out of the veil this time. But the Inspector didn’t seem concerned. His lips curled into a smile around his cigar.

I may give it something of my usual flair, he replied. But it’ll be safe, clean fun. I promise you that.

I went back to drying the dishes. Somehow, I had a hard time believing him.

THE INSPECTOR WAS TIGHT-lipped about his party plans all week, leaving the rest of us to speculate. As members of the Sheriff’s household, Stephen and I were included in the invitation, so we hastily got to work making our costumes. Stephen put in as little effort as possible - he repurposed an old curtain as a cape and called himself a teething vampire - but I hadn’t dressed up for the holiday in years, and I wanted something a little more decorative.

I spent the majority of my free time this week down at Ingram’s craft store, putting all the pieces together. At first I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I played with different materials, sewing strips of felt onto fabric, running my fingers through the buckets of fake jewelry. Eventually an idea took shape. I wasn’t sure where it had come from, and it was a bit strange, but it felt right. I think Mark would have appreciated it.

I sewed a ring of felt trees around the base of a dark blue dress, then peppered the fabric above with little superglue stars. For authenticity, I took a few crinkly leaves from the ground outside and pasted them in patterns across the dress. Then I draped a plastic full moon pendant around my neck. A pair of purple contact lenses completed the picture.

The day of the party arrived, and we all gathered in the kitchen to head out together. The Inspector looked as gray and looming as ever. He hadn’t bothered to trade out of his trademark trench coat or fedora, but his cigar now issued puffs of orange smoke, so at least he was getting into the season. Stephen stood in the corner, bored, tugging on the edge of his vampire cape.

What are you supposed to be? Olivia asked. She had simply changed into her sheriff’s uniform, which I guess was a costume of sorts. Janine had applied copious amounts of white face paint and put on a threadbare wedding dress.

I gave my own dress a little twirl. The fabric rustled like wind through the trees.

I’m the Neverglades, I answered.

I don’t think I’d ever seen a smile so broad on the Inspector’s face.

THE INSPECTOR HAD TRANSFORMED the Hanging Rock from an unassuming bar and diner into something out of a macabre dream. Cobwebs filled with all sorts of skittering creatures stretched from wall to wall. Four obelisks, covered with spiky runes and symbols, jutted from each corner of the room. A low moaning issued from each one. The tables had been pushed aside to create a makeshift dance floor, which swirled with clouds of mist and flashing orange lights. People were milling around with drinks clutched in their hands, admiring the decorations.

Check out the apple bobbing, Nico Sanchez told me as he wandered by. Gave me a fucking heart attack. He seemed pretty pleased by whatever had scared him. He was dressed like a lumberjack, all plaid and overalls, and he carried a cheap plastic axe. I caught sight of his girlfriend, Abigail, chatting with Janine by one of the obelisks. She wore fox ears and a bushy red tail.

Curious, I headed over to the apple tank and brushed a hand through the water. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I held my breath and dunked my head in. A coldness rushed over me at once, along with a stomach-lurching sense of depth. Any thoughts about apples were forgotten. The tank plunged down hundreds of feet into a fiery pit, where a salamander creature with six orange heads and an enormous tail slithered around the rock formations. It caught me staring and roared up at me with three of its heads. I drew back immediately, dripping, my heart pounding like a drum.

I see you spared no expenses, I told the passing Inspector. He grinned and handed me a towel to dry my hair.

Just trying to spice things up, he said. Check out one of the mirrors when you get the chance, won’t you? I’m particularly proud of those.

I said I would and left him to go mingle. As the Inspector had hoped, people seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves, swapping stories about their weekend and praising the Inspector’s attention to detail. He was right - morale had been low in the police force recently. I could see it in the heaviness Olivia brought home every night, in the general malaise every time I visited the station. But the party seemed to have reminded everyone that celebrating was okay. That there could still be fun and laughter and happiness, even when things felt bleak. I was grateful to the Inspector for showing us that much.

I caught Stephen slipping cups of spiked punch and slapped him gently on the wrist, but I wasn’t actually mad - the boy was going to college soon, and a little drinking now was hardly the worst thing in the world. I left him to sip and chat with Olivia and wandered away from the hub of the party, peering down a side hallway. The Inspector had lined the walls with mirrors of every size and shape: some round and simple, others long and ornate, with rims that swirled and curved like water turned to metal. I approached one of the smaller ones and stared into it.

For a second my reflection looked the same. Then its jaw began to stretch, its eyes rolling back in its head, its tongue vibrating with the force of a silent scream. It was a neat trick. I was about to go look into another one when a face appeared over my reflection’s shoulder. It was a face I knew - shortly cropped brown hair, blue eyes, a nose slightly off center from when it was broken in a police scuffle many years ago.

Mark was standing right behind me.

I whirled around. The hall was empty, but I could feel something hot and painful squeezing my heart. Hello? I called. My voice came out as a croak. The mirrors glimmered in the light from the party room, but otherwise there was no reply.

I wandered back into the crowd and found the Inspector talking idly with an officer I didn’t know. If anyone had answers, it would be him. I pulled him away from the officer with a slight apology and brought him over to the side hallway. There was the slightest of smiles still plastered on his face.

Do you think this is funny? I hissed.

His brow grew furrowed. What are you talking about?

I took him by the arm and dragged him over to the mirror. Our faces went through their visual cues: chins elongating, eyes turning white, mouths opening in screams of terror. But this time there was no sign of Mark over my shoulder. I touched a hand to the glass.

I don’t understand, I whispered. I saw - I thought -

A cry of disgust from the next room cut me off. The voice was loud, angry, and sounded like Nico Sanchez. What kind of fucked up joke is this?

The Inspector and I left the mirror and hurried to the source of the noise. A circle had formed in the middle of the party room, and in its center stood a man in fire-seared clothing. Hushed muttering ran through the crowd. The man stood slouched, off-kilter, one shoulder higher than the other. His skin was smoldering slightly. Everything about him gave off a subtle blue glow, like his body was made of neon.

I would have recognized that figure anywhere. Something inside of me, something I hadn’t known was there, withered at the sight of him.

You’re sick, Nico spat. Who do you think you are, dressing up like him? Do you not see how fucked up that is? He took a step forward, brandishing his plastic axe. Abigail hovered just behind him.

My husband - or whoever was dressed like him - made no reply. I couldn’t see his face from where I was standing. His head tilted, ever so slightly, and he took a step toward the furious Nico. His glowing hand reached up and grabbed the hilt of Nico’s prop axe. Nico made a move to yank it away, but Mark’s grip tightened. Nico’s face blanched at the sudden pressure.

Before the eyes of everyone in the room, tongues of blue fire crept from Mark’s hand and encircled the axe, spreading from top to bottom. The plastic handle turned to thick, knobby wood. The cheap blade at the tip became wickedly sharp. I took a step back, feeling faint, as the shadow of my husband wrenched the axe out of Nico’s hand.

What are you -? Nico started.

Then the figure swung around and buried the axe in Nico’s portly chest. Abigail screamed. Nico looked down at the blade protruding from his stomach with something like dull surprise. I don’t think he had fully registered what was happening. Mark pulled at the axe, sending a spray of dark blood across the floor, before swinging back for another whack. The room devolved into chaos. People swarmed over one another: some throwing themselves at the axe-wielding figure to pull him away from Nico, others fleeing toward the exits. I heard another scream and a sickening squelch as the axe found a home in someone’s neck.

The Inspector grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away from the carnage. Stephen! I cried, and for a second I was terrified that he was in the middle of that swarm, buried under flailing arms and waves of blood. Then, out of nowhere, he was hurrying after us. His cape flapped behind him as he ran. The Inspector ushered us into a side hallway and gestured for us to be quiet.

That wasn’t... who was that? I whispered. I could feel my hands starting to tremble. Stephen had big tears welling up in his eyes, and it looked like he might start sobbing at any minute.

It’s not Mark, the Inspector assured me, but even he looked distraught, and he kept shooting glances back toward the scene of the crime. That thing out there - it calls itself the Semblance. It was an enemy of mine a long time ago. I managed to seal it away, deep in a world without light or sound, and for awhile now I thought it had gone dormant. But something must have agitated it.

Why does it look like Dad? Stephen choked out.

It’s like a walking mirror, the Inspector said. It makes reflections real. I’ve never seen its true face, because it wears people like masks. And a whole room of people, pretending to be something they’re not... He looked behind him, where the screams of fear and pain still issued. It can create dozens of warped reflections. The Semblance will have a field day in there.

How do we stop it? I asked.

It won’t be easy, the Inspector replied. We have to corner it, drive it back to the dimension it came from. Only then can I try to seal it up again. We just need to -

He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes took on an odd glassy sheen, and for a second I thought he’d noticed something behind me. Then a raspy moan escape from his throat. I clutched Stephen and watched, horrified, as the Inspector’s skin calcified, turning hard as stone. It spread up his arms and neck like a rash. His lips froze in an expression of pure shock; his eyes turned into purple orbs of glass. In seconds his body had gone entirely still. I could only stare and think, numbly, about all the times I’d thought that the Inspector looked like a statue. Now he’d become one.

Mom! Stephen cried. He had let go of my arm and was scrabbling at his mouth, pulling his lips apart with his fingers. His canine teeth looked sharper than usual. As the seconds passed, they grew noticeably more razor-like, until a clear set of fangs had sprouted from his jaw. His eyes became wide and bloodshot. He looked at me, and I saw a shudder pass through his body.

Stephen? I said.

"Run," he whispered.

Then he lunged at me, teeth bared, and I acted without thinking. I swerved around him and pushed him through an open door, slamming and locking it behind him. His fists pounded furiously against the wood, accompanied by a guttural snarl that should never have come from my boy’s throat. I backed up slowly. The Inspector’s statue blocked out the ambient light from the next room, casting a long shadow across the hall.

I realized, suddenly, that the lighting wasn’t just atmosphere. It was a bright, neon blue, and it emanated from a figure standing at the far end of the corridor. He skirted around the Inspector and took a few steps toward me, swinging Nico’s axe like a baseball bat. His mouth was curled up into a grin so wide it stretched the limits of his cheeks. His eyes were a solid blue - no irises or pupils. I’d never seen such a gruesome expression on my husband’s face.

Oh, Ruth, he said, in a voice like a thousand buzzing gnats. Sweet, sweet Ruth. I’ve heard so much about you. Swish, swish. The axe was mesmerizing, gleaming with each swing.

You have, huh? I said. I don’t think I’d ever been so scared in my life, but I forced myself to project an air of false confidence. And where have you been getting your information?

I think you know, he smirked. It’s a little endearing, honestly, how he won’t shut up about you. I wonder what he’ll do when he learns what I’ve done to you and your precious ones. His smile grew even wider, the skin splitting around his lips. He stopped swinging the axe.

Mark...? I uttered.

Then I felt a wave of unexplained nausea, and I could feel myself unspooling, like a tangle of thread coming undone. I stumbled against the wall to keep myself from falling over. I could feel the atoms in my body exploding outward like a scattershot of shrapnel, and a realization washed over me, cold and horrible. The Semblance had seen my reflection and brought it to life. Tonight I was the Neverglades. I was becoming the town, the night sky, the grass and trees and streets and houses. Soon there would be none of me left.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

My body snapped back together, like a magnet yanking each particle into place, and I staggered back to my feet. The monster wearing my husband’s face had stumbled. He dropped the axe as Olivia approached from behind and emptied the contents of her pistol into his back, causing sprays of neon blue blood to spatter across the floor. I don’t think I’d ever seen such grim darkness in her eyes.

I darted forward and snatched up the axe, and before I could stop myself, I brought the blade down on Mark’s neck. The entity roared with waspy pain as the metal dug into his skin and collided with bone. I brought back the axe and whacked him