{"id":261548,"date":"2026-07-13T18:26:10","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T15:26:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/gone-by-christmas-j-cronshaw-1\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T18:26:10","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T15:26:10","slug":"gone-by-christmas-j-cronshaw-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/gone-by-christmas-j-cronshaw-1\/","title":{"rendered":"Gone By Christmas – J Cronshaw (1)"},"content":{"rendered":"
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He hates you enough to want revenge. He has opportunity. He knows our routines, our weaknesses.\u201d \u201cStop.\u201d \u201cHe could have been planning this for months. Watching Courtney, learning her schedule\u2014\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s not Michael.\u201d Steve cuts across me before I can continue, his voice carrying a note of finality that makes my stomach twist. \u201cHow can you be so certain?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Michael\u2019s in Spain.\u201d \u201cBut what if he\u2019s not? What if that\u2019s just what he wanted everyone to think?\u201d Steve shakes his head with violent emphasis. \u201cHe\u2019s not involved.\u201d I stare at him, confusion mounting. \u201cWhy are you so resistant to this theory? It explains everything. The phone, the handwriting, the photograph.\u201d \u201cBecause I know it\u2019s not him.\u201d \u201cHow?\u201d \u201cI just know.\u201d The answer lands hollow, evasive in exactly the way that suggests there\u2019s more he\u2019s not telling me. \u201cSteve, if you know something\u2014\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know anything.<\/p>\n

I just know it\u2019s not Michael.\u201d His tone has the ring of someone trying to convince himself as much as me. Like he\u2019s afraid to consider the possibility, not because it\u2019s impossible but because it\u2019s too dangerous to acknowledge. \u201cI need to tell the police what I\u2019ve found.\u201d \u201cNo.\u201d The word comes out sharp enough to make me flinch. \u201cYou can\u2019t tell them about Michael.\u201d \u201cWhy not?\u201d \u201cBecause he\u2019s not involved.\u201d \u201cBut if there\u2019s even a chance\u2014\u201d \u201cThere isn\u2019t.\u201d I study his face, searching for any hint of what\u2019s driving this desperate resistance.<\/p>\n

Fear, guilt, something else I can\u2019t identify. All I see is a man terrified of a conversation he refuses to have. \u201cHow many enemies do you actually have, Steve?\u201d He opens his mouth to answer. My phone buzzes on the coffee table before he can speak. I reach for it automatically, expecting another update from the police or a message from one of Courtney\u2019s friends who might finally have information. A new message appears from an unknown number.<\/p>\n

It shows an unfamiliar address. Then: Come alone. Steve leans over to read the message, and all the colour drains from his face. \u201cDon\u2019t even think about it.\u201d \u201cThis could be Courtney.\u201d \u201cThis could be a trap.\u201d \u201cI have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

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First edition. December 2, 2025. Copyright \u00a9 2025 J. Cronshaw. Written by J. Cronshaw. OceanofPDF.com Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Gone By Christmas 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. Claim your free copy of The Lodger Find J. Cronshaw online About the Author OceanofPDF.com For my amazing readers!<\/p>\n

OceanofPDF.com Join my newsletter and get The Lodger\u2014a twisted tale of obsession and betrayal\u2014absolutely free. Plus, you\u2019ll be the first to know about new releases, exclusive content, and the dark secrets I uncover in my next psychological thriller. Sign up at: jcronshaw.com\/thelodger Because the most dangerous enemies are the ones who smile while they destroy you. OceanofPDF.com 1. Lancaster Christmas Market glows against the December cold, fairy lights strung between wooden stalls that smell of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts.<\/p>\n

I edge the car through streets clogged with shoppers bundled in scarves and woolly hats, their breath steaming in the freezing air. Courtney hums beside me\u2014the alto line from tonight\u2019s performance, something classical I don\u2019t recognise. Her fingers tap the rhythm against her knee, and I catch the familiar tangle of pride and worry that comes with watching your fifteen-year-old prepare to sing solo in front of strangers.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got your phone?\u201d She rolls her eyes without stopping the humming. \u201cYes, Mum.\u201d \u201cAnd your gloves?\u201d She pulls one blue mitten from her coat pocket and waves it at me like evidence. \u201cSee? Not completely hopeless.\u201d I pull into the drop-off zone beside the market entrance, where the choir coordinator stands with a clipboard tucked under one arm. Mrs Galloway waves us over, her smile bright enough to power the Christmas lights.<\/p>\n

Courtney climbs out, cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves. The cold hits us both like a slap, and I get out to hug her even though she pretends to hate the fuss. \u201cI\u2019ll be home by nine,\u201d she says into my shoulder. \u201cWe finish at half eight, then Mrs G needs to do the register.\u201d \u201cStick with the group when you\u2019re walking back to the car park. Don\u2019t wander off.\u201d She pulls away and gives me the tired smile of a teenager who\u2019s heard this twenty times.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, Mum. It\u2019s Lancaster, not Gaza.\u201d I watch her join the line of blue-scarfed singers gathering beneath the bandstand lights.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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