Samuel Dunskis: A Serial Novel

By Alex McComas & Alex Thompson

Opening Comments

Hello there from the authors!

The story we’ve developed takes place in none other than Gettysburg, PA. Indeed, the focal point of the story is GBurg’s very own Glatfelter tower. Why? Well, why not? During the first week of our arrival to Gettysburg College, our friends and both us Alex² were told the story of a couple that jumped off of Glatfelter tower to show their love for one another. If you haven’t heard this ghost story, let me simply add that, according to the legend, the woman jumped while her beloved did not, and it is said that young men are sometimes lured to the top of Glatfelter tower to this day by the spirit of the woman who was scorned.

Alex and I’s story stems from this tale. We’ve developed rather a fondness for this tower as it was one of our first introductions to the college, and because it holds certain hilarity among our floor-mates. The story is placed somewhere in the late 1800s, sometime before the Civil War twisted its way though campus and victory was awarded the north.

But, wait. What’s this? Oh no! It’s…! It’s…! It’s a historical anachronism! Glatfelter tower wasn’t built until much, much later! Fiends! Heathens!

Yes, folks, we apologize now for this historical travesty. For those historical buffs out there, we can only request you don’t get out your smoothbores and hunt us down in the dead of night. The story is most certainly a fiction. We will definitely try not to, but we know the eventual historical inaccuracy will weave its way into our story. However, we hope we can create an interesting, semi-realistic story for your bi-weekly enjoyment, one that doesn’t deviate too ridiculously from the thread of history. If nothing else, we at least promise, no aliens.

Thanks to our friends, one of whom was the model for our hero that you soon will meet. Thanks also to the various professors who will help us in the creation of the story, and indeed already have. Lastly, thanks to our readers who, in the end, give purpose for our work.

Well, that’s enough of that. We wish you happy reading, and we welcome you to the tale of Samuel Dunskis, the cleverest detective since Sherlock (just as long as his clumsiness doesn’t get the better of him).

Week 1 (12/10/09)

Chapter 1: Unfortunate Wallpapering

Lawson Kidder was a well respected apothecary in the town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. He prescribed only the latest and most trusted medical remedies from the greatest doctors in Europe and, because of this, he had achieved some mild fame around the area of Adams County. He was also brutally handsome, a real-life Casanova with dark features and a wandering eye that caused every daughter’s father in town to worry when Kidder paid a visit to their house. He would distribute his miracle cures as the women of the house congregated in a flurry of lashes and sighs. Tall and thin, he towered over most other inhabitants in the town and possessed an enchanting smile that would cause women to melt in their shoes.

Besides his handsome fame, Kidder was also considered a model citizen. He was never rude or inappropriate, and was sure to lend a helping hand to those who needed one. He attended town meetings, when work would allow, and entertained guests in his home with such a unique, mature frivolity that all who met him were sure to like him. Lawson Kidder was a gentleman, a debonair doctor, and he was wonderful with words and expression. Indeed, Lawson Kidder was all this and more.

At least before he died.

Enter Samuel Dunskis: freelance Detective, fanciful investor, and three-time Ball-Room Dancing Champion. On this particular night at this particular point in the week, Dunskis was not having the best day. Single handedly in the course of the last twenty four hours, he had managed to burn himself with morning coffee, narrowly avoid being run over by three horse carriages, almost break his neck tripping down a flight of stairs, and be slapped by a young lady he had been quite fond of at the saloon.

To remedy these injustices to his well-being, he had resorted for the last few hours to what most men do when they’ve had a terrible day: he had proceeded to complain and spill his woes over one too many glasses of scotch to the local bartenders.

The otherwise silent night was punctuated by an ever-constant tapping of raindrops upon the roofs of houses along the street. A lone street lamp sputtered and coughed as, every so often, a droplet of water managed to squeeze itself in through the cracks of metal and fall upon the glowing fire. Dunskis stumbled back home that night through the miserable drizzle, slogging through the muddy streets. He held the collar of his frock coat close to him, the alcohol strong upon his breath as he staggered from time to time in his search for home. Finally, after a few minutes of arguing with himself, Samuel came to the front door of what he presumed to finally be his home. In his intoxicated state, he attempted to unlock the front door. However, his key was having none of it and would not go correctly into the lock.

Dunskis let out a huff as he tried to shove the key into the lock once more, it once again refusing to cooperate with him. “WORK, YOU BLASTED KEY,” he shouted at the metal in his hand, only to find that it was no longer there.

His eyes widened as he looked about the ground at his feet, seeing nothing but darkness. He searched a few moments for the suddenly missing key. He looked left. Nothing. He tried looking right. Still nothing. Where had the key gone? Dunskis squinted, trying to pierce the inky blackness with his dark brown eyes, but still nothing came to him.

“Confound it…” He attempted to get down on his hands and knees to continue the search, but the alcohol decided it wanted to go by a different route. Samuel felt himself shift sideways, and suddenly, he was flailing his arms as the world went vertical, and he landed very hard on his side. The fall seemed far larger than it was, and he let out a pitiful squeal of momentary terror.

In actuality, Dunskis landed in a matter of milliseconds. Blinking at his sudden shock, he quickly shrugged himself into a seated position against the door. He stared off blankly as he sat, his head tilted slightly to one side. What had he just been doing? Hmm. He knew he had been talking to the two bartenders tonight, but he didn’t recall what they had been discussing. No, wait. Not discussing. Discussing took a certain amount of rationale and intellect. No, Dunskis decided proudly, he had most certainly been rambling. That defined, he wondered what he had been rambling about?

Dunskis giggled. He had no clue. He was quite miserable at the moment, and yet he had no inclination as to why.

Suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps slapping through the mud of the street met Dunskis ears. He raised his head to see a lone figure jogging down the street, a copy of the day’s local news propped over his head in an attempt to shield himself from the rain. It took a few moments of staring at this new individual until he could finally place a name to the face.

“Drake!” He shouted, waving stupidly, as the fair haired man turned to look for who had called his name. The man, now identified as Drake, plodded over. The moment he got under the protection of the porch, he let the newspaper fall, shaking himself free of water much in the same way a dog would. He pulled the glasses from his face and wiped lines of liquid from the lenses.

“Lawd! Samuel, what’re ya doin’ out in weather like this?” He raised an eye brow at his friend sitting on the ground. In Drake’s mind, this was a very un-”Samuel Dunskis” thing to do.

Dunskis laughed. “I’m wallpapered, Dickens,” now tilting his head to the other side, “Why else would I be out here?”

Drake Dickens paused for a moment, and then shrugged, “Well, whate’er makes ya happy.”

Samuel watched his southern friend as he wrung his hands together. There was something on Dickens’ mind, Sam finally surmised. Usually he was not this jittery. Dunskis opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but stopped for a moment before continuing. He was thinking far too hard than he should be at the moment, and that last glass of scotch was taking every effort to further confuse Dunskis’ inebriated brain. His brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate, and he looked up blearily. “What’s wrong?”

“Aw, well… Ya know, the typical. Life, liberty an’ the pur-sewt of happiness…”

“Liar,” Samuel said matter-of-factly, successfully calling the bluff.

Dickens made a face, and sighed. He’d tried on many occasions to lie to Samuel, but he never got very far. Tucking the paper under his arm and looking down at his friend, Dickens’ chided, “Alrigh’, yew caught me. It’s a wonder how ya managed to do it, too, with yew kicking outta yer tree and all.”

Dunskis smiled in contentment at his deviousness. “Well,” Samuel prompted, pausing only to hiccup, “now that it’s out, what’s on your mind?”

“I juss got some rather disturbin’ news from the head man himself.”

Samuel blinked in surprise. “Directly from Damascus Rose?”

“Yea. There’s been a murder.”

Dunskis put a hand to his head. “It must be important for the Senator himself to be getting involved and all.” Drake nodded as Samuel squinted at him. “What in blazes happened?”

“A man fell outta Glatfelter Tower.”

“A man… fell out of Glatfelter Tower?” Dunskis repeated in disbelief.

Drake nodded. “Yea. And Rose’s daughter is in custody as the culprit.” His voice had dropped to a near whisper, a hint of sorrow tugging at his voice. Sam stared for a moment before questioning further, “Why? Was she up there with him?”

Drake frowned. “It sure looks a-lot like she’s the guilty culprit. She was at the top of the tower with this man when he fell. She swears by Gawd himself, though, tha’ he tripped!”
“Tripped? What in the world were they doing in Glatfelter anyway?”
“T’was to be some sort of romantic endin’. They were goin’ to jump offa the tower together.” Drake cringed even as he said it. “Crazy what these romantics think of ‘n all, eh?”

Dunskis stared ahead. Frowning seriously, he pieced together the information. He also noted somewhat bitterly that he was sobering up with the effort. “Rose and another fellow up in the tower. Going to Jump off. She swears he tripped. Looks highly suspect to me.” He tapped his chin with his fingers.

“There’s uh-nother thing. One of the professors over at the college came up after the man fell. He said he had heard arguin’ and all while he was goin’ up the stairs.” Drake gave Samuel a sideways glance. “How’s all tha’ figure in?”

Dunskis looked blank for a moment before that same look of hard concentration came back to his face. “I really have no idea. The whole thing doesn’t make much sense. Firstly, what couple, even the most romantically diseased couple, would even consider something as foolish as a joint suicide? Secondly, they were arguing. That never looks good. Thirdly, let’s face it. A man was killed, and a woman was present at the scene. Which court of law is going to hesitate to blame her?” He shrugged lopsidedly. “I don’t know. Perhaps this won’t turn into so grand an ordeal.”

With that Dunskis stood up and leaned against the door. His eyes glanced down. “Bleeding Kansas!” he exclaimed, bending down to pick up the key he had dropped earlier. “So that’s where you went,” he grinned at the key foolishly.

Drake looked at his friend. “Sam, I’m serious now. Will you take the case?”

“Why are you so interested in this? I thought you hated those bigwigs.”

Dickens tensed for a moment before quickly pressing the subject once more. “Please, Sam, this case is ridiculous I know, but please, just take it! I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Dunskis sighed and leaned his head against the door. After a few moments of troubled contemplation, Samuel relented, “Alright, I’ll take it.” With that, he tried to shove the uncooperative key into the door’s lock, yet it was still to no avail. Once again, he was defeated by the piece of metal.

Dickens laid a hand on Dunskis’ shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.” He paused. Taking a few moments to look at the door they had been standing in front of the last five minutes, Drake frowned solemnly.

“Ahh, Sam, are you sure this is your house?”

Dunskis looked up at the door, taking a moment to contemplate its unfamiliar appearance. He froze before breaking into a bought of laughter. “Dammit Drake,” he chuckled breathlessly, “I really am wallpapered aren’t I?”