Locker 19 – J Cronshaw (1)

I open the cupboard under the sink. Cleaning bottles line up in numeric perfection. Labels out. Heights stepped like a graph. Even the cloths are folded and sorted—blue, pink, yellow. Tim’s systems everywhere, shaping the house so it behaves the way he wants. My mind walks back through the last month. Headaches that sagged my vision. Nights where whole stretches vanish if I try to remember them.

Times when I found cupboards reorganised and assumed I’d done it and forgotten. Every foggy patch, every moment where my own memory buckled, now rearranges itself around one simple fact. He’s been drugging me. And telling everyone I’m losing my grip. “He’s building a file.” I say it out loud this time, just to hear the shape of it. It sounds like exactly what it is. Premeditation. The coffee tin waits on the counter, ringed with that chalky ghost. The pill bottles stand tall beside it. Evidence, I tell myself again.

Proof. Except I’ve already disturbed the scene—flushed the torn sachet, scrubbed my skin clean. My body moves faster than thought. I snatch up the sertraline bottle, twist off the cap, and pour the tablets into the sink. They skitter across stainless steel, small blue coins that spin and slide before settling in a crooked heap. The zopiclone follows, white tablets scattering over blue. I turn on the cold tap. Water slams down onto the pile, splashing my wrists.

The pills cloud and soften, edges fuzzing before they break apart. A chalky smell rises—mint and chemical and something metallic underneath. They collapse into paste, then into streaks, then into cloudy swirls that disappear down the drain. My hands clamp on the sink’s edge. I can’t look away. This is control, I tell myself. This is me refusing to swallow one more thing he gives me.

The last tablet dissolves into nothing.

Not Safe Here – Chapter One Claim your free copy of The Nanny’s Secret Books by J. Cronshaw Find J. Cronshaw online About the Author OceanofPDF.com For Laura. OceanofPDF.com Join my newsletter and get The Nanny’s Secret—a tense tale of trust, obsession, and the danger waiting inside your own home—absolutely free. You’ll also be first to hear about new releases, exclusive content, and the dark secrets at the heart of my next psychological thriller. Sign up at: jcronshaw.com/newsletter. Because sometimes the greatest threat to your family is already living under your roof.

OceanofPDF.com E 1. very year, it’s the same balancing act—me, a chair, and the secret stash of Santa presents. Jamie still believes, bless him. Six years old and already planning where Santa should land when we don’t have a chimney. The bedroom chair wobbles on the uneven carpet.

I grip the cupboard frame and stretch higher, fingertips searching for the cardboard box pushed right to the back. December wind rattles the sash windows. Outside, the tide’s coming in across Morecambe Bay, bringing the smell of salt and seaweed even through closed glass. Tim’s forgotten to help again. Every Christmas Eve, same story. He’ll remember around lunchtime, appear with that sheepish grin that still gets me after twelve years, and offer to wrap everything.

But Tim wraps presents like he’s bandaging a wound—tape everywhere, corners bunched up, no sense of where to fold. He calls it rustic. I call it hostage packaging. The chair creaks. I shift my weight to the left leg, lean further in. Yesterday Jamie asked if Santa’s reindeer leave footprints on the roof. Tim told him they hover. I said they land so gently that only special children can hear them.

The way his face lit up—worth every wobbling chair and hidden box. My fingers find the box. Heavy with Lego sets, the dinosaur book he spotted in Waterstones, that remote control car Tim insisted on. I drag it forward. My hand brushes the soft edge of Jamie’s stocking, tucked on the shelf since last January. I smile.

Then something behind the box shifts. Falls sideways with a soft thump. A brown bank envelope, wedged between the box and the cupboard’s back wall. The paper feels new between my fingers. Not like the ancient gas bills we keep meaning to throw out. The flap’s barely sealed, just tucked in. I pull it open. Bank statements. Several of them, folded into neat thirds the way Tim folds everything important. His name at the top—Mr T. Scargill.

The account number’s not one I recognise.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 3ed3730e0405c386
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,417,487 bytes (1.352 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9798227347091
• Pages: 285
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 322.44 minutes
• Total Words: 64,487
• Total Characters: 379,812
• Average Words per Page: 226.27
• Average Characters per Page: 1332.67

Most Frequent Words

tim (316), like (294), jamie (251), something (214), back (213), ruth (191), one (186), he’s (165), door (164), against (160), tim’s (159), can’t (153), voice (152), don’t (146), everything (140), i’m (137), know (133), car (131), still (127), phone (124), now (122), every (120), someone (108), face (107), eyes (107), hands (105), across (102), need (100), nothing (99), hand (96), light (96), cold (94), it’s (93), behind (93), away (93), between (92), around (89), jamie’s (89), words (89), cross (89), doesn’t (88), feels (84), look (83), ruth’s (83), open (81), rain (81), towards (80), left (78), table (76), think (76), com (75), see (74), maybe (72), another (72), way (71), comes (71), enough (71), didn’t (71), inside (70), house (70), sound (70), that’s (70), dark (69), already (69), step (69), looks (69), fingers (67), never (67), myself (65), sits (65), metal (65), air (65), oceanofpdf (64), head (64), says (64), feel (64), tell (64), i’ve (63), evidence (63), said (61), she’s (60), years (59), even (59), last (59), kitchen (59), stop (59), grip (57), pull (57), silence (57), you’re (57), home (56), small (56), time (56), normal (55), long (55), breath (55), water (55), help (54), christmas (54), two (54).

PDF Download