Agatha Christie Novel Novels & Stories

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…

Lennox As I was driving through the estate, into my house, I noticed a familiar figure standing by the gate side. But it wasn't that the ‘figure’ which I realized to be Agatha was just standing. Agatha was trying so hard to wriggle away from something, someone's grip. The hair at the back of my neck immediately stood on end, and I accelerated the speed of the car to find out that indeed, Agatha was being held against her will by a man I could not recognize.

He looked at me funny. "In all that time you were in there, that is all she said?" he asked me. I didn't look at him. I knew I would start talking once those green eyes pierced mine. I took out my phone and typed. Agatha says she thinks there are spies here, listening in on us. She says everything I need to know about me, and my destiny will be found in a book your father is bringing later", I wrote. He looked at it, then looked around before nodding and handing me my phone. I deleted the message from my notes.

Viona questioned hurriedly, " What's wrong? Have you seen her face? Who was she?" Damien also kept staring at Agatha with an expectant look. His wolf was impatient to know the identity of that murderer. Agatha replied letting out a deep exhale, " I couldn't see her face but there is one thing that I am sure about now." Damien's frown tightened again. Getting closer, he asked in a husky voice, " What is it?" Agatha continued reaching out to grab a book and flipped through the pages hastily untill she found the correct piece of news,

Just past the first turn, she realised there was no house, no village in front of her, only a long stretch of whiteness bordered by snow-powdered hedges without a telltale rise in smoke in the distance. She didn't dare look up again for a long while. Time lost all meaning as she walked onward, her cheeks stinging, then without feeling, as hints of eventide crept in behind the melancholy December sky. It was then that Betty murmured an almost forgotten prayer from her childhood……...a little something to her guardian Angel begging an entree to paradise. ………………………….. She awoke stretching contentedly. Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, it took her a few moments to determine where she was, but

‘The black coffee’ by Agatha Christie, the great author, caught my eyes as I wanted to read this book for a very long time but I didn’t get to. When I was about to take it, a hand took in a fraction of seconds from behind me, where the book was on top. I turned to see him almost touching my body. His hands are still above me, having the book in his hands. He never forgets to give a death glare at me though I never crossed into his places. “I chose that book first.” I said, with a daring look. “I took that book first.” He smiled with a smirk. “You never come to libraries.” I said.

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.”

Sunlight cast the shadows of the massive columns into a grid pattern; in the flickering light and shadow, only the light tap of her boot heels could be heard. The man was dazed for a split second, then regained his cold composure. He quickened his pace, turning a corner swiftly and silently, but stopped abruptly, his sharp pupils constricting violently. The slender figure had vanished without a trace, leaving only the empty long corridor, so quiet one could hear a heartbeat. His finger was on the trigger of his gun, yet he felt no threat of falling into a trap. His gaze was suddenly drawn to something. At the end of the corridor was a life-sized statue of the Goddess of Fate.

Confused and distraught, I tried every possible exit—doors, windows, any opening I could find—but each attempt only brought me back to the same spot. Defeated and devastated, I slumped to the floor, my cries echoing through the mansion. Suddenly, a cold hand grasped my leg, and I gasped in shock. Agatha, her face pale as a ghost and her eyes dull, was still alive, albeit barely. Her neck was ripped open, caked with dried blood.

I gestured over Winter's restful form on the bed " I just got back, I wanted to check on Winter first " " Do you wish to clean up first?" " No...I...this won't take long " Agatha must have sensed my emotional stress. It seemed like she wanted to say something more but decided against it. " I'll give you some privacy " She said as she took the book she had been reading and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.