The Once and Future Scream Queen: Marlene Ambrosia Mysteries

by Brianna Bates

  She was lost in thought for a moment, before looking at the picture again. She must have been four or five years old at the most. She couldn’t remember this day, though.

  She did not look like this man.

  Eight

  “One year to the day since the report of the Hero of Korangal Valley came to light,” the reporter was saying. Marlene hadn’t been paying attention, but this story had made national headlines and had captivated her from the start.

  One squad had been pinned down, with no hope of rescue. Korangal was later dubbed the valley of death because of its unique geography which made fighting there incredibly dangerous. With retreat impossible, with no hope of rescue, and with several of the men injured, the squad thought they were going to die. And then one man had come out of nowhere to rescue them. Because he was Special Forces and working with intelligence agents, however, his identity had been kept a closely-guarded secret from the public and even from the men he’d miraculously saved.

  “Will we ever find out who this man is?” A grainy black and white photo appeared on screen. It was the now-famous picture of the Hero of Korangal Valley and showed the man’s profile from a distance. He had turned to look back. The poor image quality, the distance, and his beard made identifying him impossible.

  Marlene turned off the TV and reached for her paperback. She loved cozy mysteries because they sent the right message: bad things would happen from time-to-time but ultimately the villain would be caught and things would be made right.

  But before she could settle back onto the couch, there was an awful banging in her laundry room. Though this was a regular occurrence, it scared her every time. The clothes got easily bunched in the washer, throwing off the machine’s ever-so-delicate balance. With a groan, she put her book down and got up.

  Marlene cut through the kitchen and made the last turn before the garage. But before she could open the door to the laundry, she remembered:

  She hadn’t been doing wash tonight.

  ***

  Marlene froze, her hand hovering over the door knob. If she was remembering correctly, she hadn’t turned the washer on tonight. So the banging couldn’t have been coming from the touchy machine.

  So what exactly had made that noise?

  Marlene checked her pockets for her phone but as usual she didn’t have it on her person. The first thing she always did after entering anywhere was find a place to put her phone. It was like she couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

  Fear threatened to paralyze her, but Marlene shook it off. She flicked the switch next to the door, lighting up the tiny hallway and listened.

  The banging had stopped.

  Had she just been hearing things?

  Marlene counted twenty heart beats before she allowed herself to relax. Maybe it’d been an animal outside. Maybe it was that rabid owl. It’d poked its head out of the ground when she’d come home, but before it could block her path, Marlene had dashed inside. Though it was less than two feet tall, it terrified her.

  Marlene started to relax. She’d lived alone ever since college, and still hadn’t gotten quite used to it. The occasional noises from other rooms still frightened her. She turned the light off and turned to head back into the living room.

  But then she heard a voice.

  A man’s voice.

  Coming from the laundry?

  Slapping a palm over her mouth, Marlene nearly screamed. But fear locked her throat up in a soundless cry.

  Another string of words came from inside the laundry.

  The man had an old, gravelly voice and she couldn’t understand what he was saying. It almost sounded like a different language, though it was difficult to tell because there was a door separating them and the man was clearly agitated. He sounded like he was grumbling.

  The louder his voice grew, the more his words resembled English. Though they still seemed non-sensical. She thought she heard him shout the word, midriff, but that couldn’t have been right.

  Paralysis threatened to root her to the spot. But Marlene willed her legs to work. She took off running for the kitchen, where she’d left her cell phone to charge.

  She practically tore the phone out of the socket. With the charger still dangling from it, she dialed 9-1-1 and hit SEND but nothing happened. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she checked the display and realized she wasn’t getting a signal. Fear rose like nausea from her stomach.

  Marlene raced into the living room, hoping the reception would be better there. But she couldn’t get even a whisper of a signal. The screen on the phone flashed, grew bright, and then dimmed till the phone looked like it had shut off.

  She stared down at the phone. “What the…”

  “There you are.”

  Marlene screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Nine

  “Stay back or I’ll kill you!” Marlene said.

  She thrust the phone out like it was some kind of weapon and pointed it at him.

  The old man had a long grey beard with lightning-like white shocks running through it. The beard reached almost to his belly. His hair was the same grey-white color, and glasses were perched precariously on the tip of his nose. Deep age lines marked his face, especially around his eyes and on his forehead. But his bright blue eyes made him appear youthful somehow. They were full of life and mischief and wonder, like he was a boy trapped in an old man’s body.

  “I don’t doubt you’d try,” the old man said.

  She was having a hard time understanding him. He spoke English in a strange accent.

  “Go! Get out of here!” Marlene shouted.

  The old man wore a long navy blue robe that was threadbare at the elbows and looked about as comfortable as a pile of dead leaves. He wore some kind of sandals on his feet. His toenails were a disgusting yellowish color.

  Great, just what she needed. An aging hippy with no sense of private property.

  “I told you to—”

  “Put that sword down before you hurt yourself.” He waved his hand at her like she was being a nuisance. “You can’t hurt me so it isn’t doing you any good.”

  “What swor—” Marlene stopped her question when she realized the phone she’d been holding had turned into a sword. It was old, warped steel and it looked like it had seen a lot of action in its day. And it was pointed right at this strange man.

  The man chuckled and stepped toward the sword. Not expecting him to do this, Marlene tried to pull the sword back at the last minute so it didn’t impale him. But the steel passed right through his body, like he was just an optical illusion.

  “What …”

  The old man continued through the sword, unscathed, and bent at the waist to touch her old sofa. He patted one of the cushions like it was the softest thing he’d ever felt.

  “Ahhh.”

  The old man plopped down and stretched out on her sofa. He even put his grody feet up!

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Marlene asked.

  “Rule number forty-five, never ask questions!” the man said. “Even if you don’t know something, you should always act like you do … oh God, I am wasting my words on a woman.”

  Marlene’s eyes popped. “You break into my house and then you insult me and my gender?”

  The old man didn’t respond. He pulled an old book out of somewhere in his robe and opened it to the middle. He began reading text that Marlene couldn’t make heads or tails of.

  Oh no. Oh no. He was not going to break in, say something misogynistic, and then completely ignore her. Not when she was holding this sword!

  “Rule number one,” Marlene said. “Never mess with somebody who’s armed.”

  She must have been seeing things a minute ago. The old man couldn’t have walked right through her blade. That was a trick. Never mind the fact she had no idea how she came to be holding a sword right now. The important thing was she had a weapon and she was not afraid to use it. Marlene didn’t want to hurt the old guy, but she had no problems scaring h
im off.

  She brought the sword around so the tip was a few inches from his beard.

  “Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

  The old man didn’t look up from his book. “I’ll just wait here for your husband.”

  “My husband?”

  His eyes jumped from the book to her hand, presumably to check for a ring. “I should have known you weren’t married.”

  “What—”

  He waved at her, like he was dismissing a servant. “Your brother, then. If he doesn’t reside here, call him.”

  “I don’t have a brother,” Marlene said.

  The old man sighed and closed his book. “By Mithras, this is … your father, then. Surely you have one? You weren’t whelped by some banshee, were you?”

  Marlene was having a hard time understanding him and an even harder time ignoring his insults. “Listen. I don’t want to hurt you, old man.”

  She waved the blade a few inches back and forth in front of his eyes.

  The old man brought his hand up and before Marlene could jerk the blade away, he passed his hand right through the steel.

  “I’m not actually here, in case you haven’t figured this out yet.”

  Marlene was completely dumbfounded. She started to think she was dreaming.

  “You’re not dreaming,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Though now that I think about it …”

  The old man’s bushy grey eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He sat up and put his disgusting feet back on the floor.

  “You really need a manicure,” Marlene said. Without thinking, she lapsed into unsolicited advice mode. “It’ll really make you feel good. A lot of people think toe health is important—”

  “Quiet!”

  “What?!” Marlene snapped.

  Unabashed, he said, “How is it you can see and hear me?”

  “I have eyes,” Marlene said. “And ears.”

  The old man turned his head and regarded her suspiciously. “Are you a witch?”

  Marlene was having none of this. “Look, buddy. I’m not answering any more of my questions till you explain yourself. You broke into my house.”

  “And where are we?” He looked around, taking in her furniture and art and pictures. “Where is this place?”

  “What did I just say? I’m not answering any more of your questions until—”

  “Don’t tell me I’m in America, of all God-forsaken, cursed places.”

  She looked at him sideways.

  “Fine. America.” The old man shook his head sadly. “But please, tell me I am anywhere but New Jersey.”

  He looked genuinely concerned that he’d be in the Garden State.

  “Lemme guess,” Marlene said. “You’re from Pennsylvania or New York. Nine months out of the year you crack all these jokes about Jersey and how awful it is. Until the summer. Then you can’t wait to rent a house at the shore.”

  He tipped his head back, like he was dealing with a complete and utter moron.

  “No! I’m not from Pennsylvania or New York. I’m not even from York, woman!”

  Marlene pointed the blade at him. “Call me woman one more time like that and I’ll figure out a way to hurt you with this sword.”

  He stood and paced. “Where is your father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you not know?”

  “He left a long time ago. Though …”

  “Though what?” He was still pacing, with his hands folded behind his back.

  “I don’t know if he’s even my father, to be honest.” Marlene didn’t know why she was telling this stranger so much. This afternoon she’d taken one look at a random old photo and now was questioning her entire past.

  “Cousins! You must have male cousins?”

  “No. My parents were both only children.”

  “A lover, then. Who is your lover?”

  “Uh, I haven’t had … look, buddy, my love life is none of your business. Now I’m going to call the police. I’ve given you every chance to leave.”

  Marlene looked around the room for her cell phone. A sly grin appeared on the old man’s face.

  “You’re holding your phone, woman.”

  Marlene didn’t know what he was talking about, until she looked down at her hand and remembered her phone had turned into this sword … which was now turning back into her phone before her very eyes.

  “I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just see that,” Marlene said.

  “You’d better not call the police,” the old man said.

  “Yeah?” Marlene forced a laugh. “Why not?”

  “They’ll lock you up.”

  Marlene dialed 9-1-1 and brought the phone up, but again, she couldn’t get a signal. Moving right past him, Marlene headed outside to get a better signal. It was a full moon out, a very bright evening.

  But still no signal.

  “God!”

  “They’ll lock you up, woman.”

  “My name’s Marlene.” She whirled on him. “And why on earth would the police lock me up?”

  “Because you’re going to tell them about this strange man, but no one else will be able to see me but you. They’ll think you’re crazy. And from what I hear, they lock crazy people up in your times.”

  “In my times?” Marlene shook her head. “Speaking of crazy, what are you talking about?”

  “You really have no idea who I am?”

  “You sort of look like my gym teacher from grade school, only about two hundred years older.”

  “Then I look good for my age.” The old man smiled, but only for a second. His features hardened again. “I am not Mr. Merck!”

  Marlene leaned away from him. “How do you know about Mr. Merck?”

  He didn’t answer. “I’m pretty sure history is still part of the educational curriculum in the twenty-first century. Is it not?”

  Marlene was at a total loss. “I have no idea who you are. You’re dressed for Halloween. Is that beard even real? Are you dressed as that wizard from the Harry Potter—”

  “Woman, I am not some wizard!”

  “And I’m not some woman!” she shouted back. “I told you, my name is Marlene. Marlene Ambrosia. Remember it, buddy, because it’s going to appear on the police report and in the lawsuit when I …”

  His eyes widened behind the tiny glasses that looked ready to fall off his long, thin nose at any moment.

  “Marlene Ambrosia?” he asked.

  “That’s right.” Marlene folded her arms. “Now who the heck are you?”

  “I am Merlin.”

  Ten

  “Got a last name?” Marlene asked. “Or is Merlin your stage name?”

  He looked at her with new eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. For a moment, the old man studied her face.

  “Yes. Yes, I can see it now. You have high cheekbones and the same nose!”

  Marlene frowned. She had always hated her nose, it was too long and …

  The old man got even closer, till their faces were only a foot apart. His eyes seemed to take every detail of her in.

  Marlene leaned back a few inches. “What about my cheekbones?”

  “Yes,” Merlin said, inching forward again to invade her personal space. “It is you. But it can’t be. No.”

  “No what?”

  He gripped his beard and tugged on it like he was pulling a cord to ring a bell. Shaking his head, he muttered, “This can’t be.”

  “What can’t be?”

  “You’re a …” He motioned with his hand at her. “Woman.”

  “Yes, last time I checked, I was a woman.”

  He half-turned from her and again tugged his beard, deep in thought. For what seemed a full minute, he didn’t move or speak.

  “Hey, Merlin.” She nudged his shoulder. Or tried to. Her finger slipped right through the man’s body. “Are you a ghost?”

  “Ghost?” He gave her a sharp look, the way a teacher might a student who’s failed a simple test. “By Mit
hras, you know nothing, woman.”

  “I’ve had enough of the woman-hating talk, old man.”

  “In my time, old age is an achievement. Most men don’t see thirty.”

  “In your time?” Marlene shook her head and walked away from him. She’d had enough of this guy’s insanity. Now that she had a moment to think about the last few minutes, she realized how unreal everything had been. No matter what he said, Merlin was a ghost. How else could her hand pass right through him?

  How else could her sword not cut him? The same sword that had once been her phone. Marlene fell onto the couch and tipped her head back. It had been a long, strange birthday. She’d lost one client, and another had been murdered. Lunch with Artie had been interesting, to say the least.

  Normal women went out with their friends for drinks on their birthday. Or even had a party. But Marlene had long ago given up on the idea of ever being normal, of being like everybody else. She had plenty of acquaintances but no close friends. Whenever she tried to become good friends with someone, something strange or unfortunate would happen and they would blame her…

  So instead of doing what any other normal woman would do on her birthday, Marlene Ambrosia had come home, intent on enjoying a relaxing evening. But now she wouldn’t even get that. Right now she was wondering if she was losing her mind.

  Her phone buzzed. Merlin was still there, one hand in his beard. The man couldn’t seem to make up his mind on what to do. Marlene picked her phone up and checked the caller ID.

  Artie.

  “Sorry, Artie. I can’t deal with politics right now.” She sent the call to voicemail.

  She returned the phone to the coffee table and leaned way back on the sofa again. As she did, Merlin turned his two bright blue eyes to her.

  “Did you say Arthur?” he asked.

  “Artie Ryan. I went to school with him. If you were from around here, you’d know him.”

  “I do know him.” Merlin nodded.

  “So …” Marlene was really confused now. The man had been talking about his age like he came from another time. And he certainly acted like it too. “You’re from around here, then?”