روايات وقصص ضمن Agatha Christie Christmas Books

It read, in big block print, “Santa’s Workshop.” “Right,” Serendipity nodded, realizing that if she could read, she would have known that. Her face lost a bit of the glimmer from before, but she still stared in awe. “How amazing!” she whispered, looking up at several stories of glass windows and the brightly dressed elves scurrying about with various toys, different patterns of wrapping paper, and other items essential to making and finishing off Christmas presents.

And Noah, in front of everyone, let go of my hand to pass a gift box to Heidi. "Heidi, your Christmas present." Heidi excitedly tore it open. When she pulled out the worn pocket watch inside, she pouted. "Noah, you're so rich. Why are you giving me something this old?" Noah smiled without answering. But I froze completely. I'd seen that pocket watch before, in the portrait of Noah's late father.

Agatha asked, confused. “I'm getting to it.” He took a deep breath before finally dropping the bomb, “Christa doesn't want you in this house anymore.” The room was sent into stunned silence. Agatha stood there, her mouth agape as everyone in the room turned their eyes to her. “What?” She barely managed to say, voice cracking, “Why?” He stared at her knowingly, “She doesn't feel your services are needed anymore.” “What is that supposed to mean?” She demanded, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

_Aria's POV_ I looked at the calendar on the wall. The date looked back at me and my stomach tightened. The dreaded day would come soon. It was the twenty-fourth of December today and the memory still sat fresh in my throat. I could taste it like old blood. I could see the lights and hear the sirens. I remembered what happened three years ago. I remembered everything. I had been looking for scissors to open the Christmas presents when I noticed the black file lying in the corner of the sofa. It did not belong there. The living room was too neat for loose papers. I frowned and set the wrapping aside.

Jennifer chuckled and retorted mockingly, "CEO? Do you really think she became CEO through her own abilities? Without Jeremiah and me backing her up, she's just a useless loser." Charles looked at Jennifer in disbelief. His eyes were filled with shock and anger. Annoyed by the noise, I told the bodyguards to drag the two of them farther away. I crouched alone by the seaside. The winter wind blowing from the ocean was icy and piercing. Little by little, I scattered Noelle's ashes into the sea. I said softly, "Today is Christmas, Noelle. It's also the day you were born. I'm letting you return to the ocean."

But as the memories continue to unravel, I can’t shake the feeling that this is far from over. Agatha retreats to her dorm room later that night, her thoughts spinning. She pulls out a sketchbook and begins tracing the lines of her birthmark, trying to understand the connection. As she draws, a faint knock sounds at her door. Her heart races, the memory of those rogues still fresh in her mind. She opens it cautiously—only to find an envelope with no sender. Inside is a single piece of paper with a message that makes her blood run cold: “You’re not who you think you are.”

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. I’ll Be Home for Christmas (A Thorntons Christmas Novella) Published by Blue Violet Press LLC Seattle, Washington Copyright © 2017 by Iris Morland Cover design by Resplendent Media All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for

3rd January, 1999(morning) The Warehouse Lana Its a never ending circle. A repeated sequence I experience everyday, locked up in this room with little or no contact. A hollow feeling in my heart whenever I think about my family, the grief I feel whenever I remember those who died in that bloody Christmas party.

"That's what Christmas is all about, isn't it? The spirit of giving." Kiki nodded as she watched Santa pass out the gifts to the children, one by one. "It sure is." Children squealed with delight as they opened their gifts. At that moment, Kiki didn't want to be anywhere else. She and Evelyn spent the rest of the evening watching the children open gifts until they could hardly hold their eyes open. When the last gift had been passed out, Santa gathered the children around and read A Visit from St. Nicholas, better known as 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. A few minutes later, Abby approached Kiki, her eyes drooping.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.