Walnut Grove House
A Cid Garrett novel
by Alexie Aaron
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
~
Copyright 2020 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron
ALSO BY ALEXIE AARON
HAUNTED SERIES
in order
The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow
Ghostly Attachments
Sand Trap
PEEPs Lite: Eternal Maze 3.1
PEEPs Lite: Homecoming 3.2
Darker than Dark
The Garden
Puzzle
Old Bones
Things that Go Bump in the Night
Something Old
PEEPs Lite: Checking Out 9.1
PEEPs Lite: Ice and Steel 9.2
The Middle House: Return to Cold Creek Hollow
Renovation
Mind Fray
The Siege
NOLA
Never Forget
The Old House
Restitution
A Rose by Any Other Name
The Long Game
Given Enough Rope
The Return
Risen
The Candle
Book of Souls
A Daughter of Nyx
Sideshow
Crossroads
Sticks and Stones
Coming Soon: Lost Child
CID GARRETT P.I. SERIES
Cid
High Court
Tiny Houses
The Promise
Walnut Grove House
CIN FIN-LATHEN MYSTERIES
Decomposing
Death by Saxophone
Discord
The Wages of Cin
Unforgivable Cin: An Opera in Three Acts
STAND-ALONE PARANORMAL SUSPENSE
The Knight of Pages
SHORT STORIES
Evil
I dedicate this book to everyone embracing positive change. Sometimes you just have to reach out and grasp not only the brass ring but the brass cleaner too.
Table of Contents
Walnut Grove House
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Glossary
Alexie Aaron
Walnut Grove House
“I thought I was dreaming until my bones started snapping,” the burly Norwegian plumber confessed. “I’ve had bad dreams before. They became more frequent the longer I was involved in Walnut Grove House, so I just assumed that I’d wake up intact.”
“But you didn’t, Mr. Toov,” Dr. Silva confirmed. He walked over and pulled up the scans taken of Eskel Toov’s hands and arms. “I’m going to refer you to a specialist. I fear you have a long painful road of recovery in front of you, and you may never have the fine dexterity you’ve been used to…”
“I’m alive,” Eskel interrupted. “I’ll cope.”
“How did you become involved in this renovation project?”
“My local union representative recommended me for this out of town project.”
“I’m not savvy on unions, but is it normal to travel so far out of your area for a job?”
“This job paid extremely well.”
“I don’t fault you for taking the job. I’m just questioning why they hired contractors from so far away?” Dr. Silva asked.
“I now realize that there was no way anyone in the area would take the job. Not after I heard the history of this renovation project,” Eskel said. “I went into it blind. Never again.”
The doctor pulled over a chair and sat down. “Tell me about the attack and why you thought you were asleep when it happened.”
“The managing contractor, Akil Zabala, insisted that we stay on the premises to cut down on travel time. Or that’s the line of bull we bought into. There were rooms over what would have been a carriage house of some kind, little apartments. And to give him credit, the rooms were outfitted with bedding, towels and a refrigerator full of beer. He had a cook to make us meals. There was no need to go into town. Had we, I would have left the moment I first heard the history of the house.”
The Norwegian closed his eyes. His silence Dr. Silva mistook for sleep. But Eskel’s eyes opened before he could rise out of the chair.
“I left my bed, pulled on some coveralls and boots. I moved as if called into the house’s old kitchen and over to the open wall where I had been replacing the old cast-iron pipes. The day before, there was a rattle in the wall which I assumed was either air in the pipes or pressure was causing the pipes to move. I decided to do this early in the morning before the carpenters started. I walked over and ran the water. I waited, and sure enough, I heard the noise I would associate with a pipe shaking and hitting something in the wall. I located the pipe and hemmed and hawed with the decision to open up the wall at the point of instability so I could brace the pipe.”
“Why wait?”
“These were old plaster walls. Very expensive to fix. Pain in the ass to cut into. The problem was also low enough to impact the expensive trim board. I made a small drill hole in the plaster and pushed a scope into it. The light would help me to find the location from the floor below because the cellar ceiling was taken out for the convenience of the many contractors doing work on the house. My thoughts were to reach up and brace it from below. I walked downstairs and didn’t turn on the light. I saw the glow from my scope, grabbed a ladder, and marked the area. Once I did this, I climbed down and turned on as many lights as possible before I went upstairs for my materials.”
“Why all the lights?” Dr. Silva asked.
“Old cellars tend to eat light. This house was creepy, and the cellar was something out of a B horror movie. The more light, the more I felt comfortable. I’m vulnerable when I’m working. Usually I’m stuck in a small space. I like it better when there aren’t too many shadows to pay attention to. I can hardly look over my shoulder when I’m working.”
“Go on,” Dr. Silva encouraged.
“I ran into one of the electricians. I can’t remember his name… Let’s call him Harry. I asked Harry to wait a few minutes and turn on the water for another few minutes so I could make double sure I had the right pipe. He nodded, pulling out a cigarette. I hustled downstairs and waited. The water ran and
