This is in the beginning of Empty Promises and Crowded Caskets: A Libby Foster Cozy Mystery

As I got closer to the carriage house, I noted footprints in the snow where it looked like it hadn’t been shoveled since the last storm. I wondered who would have been going in and out since there seemed to be no reason and the footprints were much bigger than Grammie’s boots would have made.

Reaching out for the door handle, I heard a banging noise. It stopped me cold. It wasn’t like a knocking or rapping, it was a bang as if someone took a tin trashcan lid and hit it along the side of a tree several times in rapid succession. No rhyme, reason, or rhythm to the sound, but it continued as I began to open the door slowly. I took a step back and stood there for a second waiting to see if a raccoon or squirrel was going to make their way out now that there was a door open to them. No such luck. No cute little furry creature came out, and the banging continued.

I stepped in and hit the light switch. Again, nothing scurried. So I proceeded to the right, down the hallway into the main office area – toward the banging noise. I stop as it occurred to me that I might need a weapon of some sort. Could it be something nefarious? Would I need to protect myself? But I cannot think of why something like that would be here. This is my safe place, I reminded myself. It’s most likely an animal that is stuck. I can always leave it and call for help from the humane society.

I take a step into the main office area and flick on the lights. I look across the open room over several desks toward a bank of filing cabinets and realize it is not an animal. No, it’s a man. Or more accurately, it’s what once was a man. He hasn’t seemed to have noticed the lights as he is concentrating on the filing cabinet in front of him. I cannot tell if he is trying to open the drawer or move the whole thing, but as he fails his frustration radiates. His fists come down on the metal cabinet, making the banging noise I have been hearing, before disappearing through it.

“Who are you?” I ask, my inner editor noting it would have been more accurate to use the verb ‘were’.

He turned around, startled to see me, looking guilty and caught. He started to run towards me, hands outstretched as if he meant to push me out of the way. He ran straight through the desks, not moving anything including the dust. In my shock, I did not have time to step aside. I only got a glimpse at the surprised look on his face when his hands began to go right through my chest. The feeling was not comfortable. I could taste his rage as he ran straight through me. It seemed to stop my heart for a second. I quickly turned to see where he had gone, but he was no longer there.

Catching my breath, I shook my head. I had been home all of five minutes. Already the ghosts were coming out to play.

Could this day get any worse?