Who's that rap rap rapping upon my door?

The house is finally quiet again. 

A year ago, something was stirred up and December had its share of anomalies. Knocking upon the walls, small white lights in the hallway, and a Santa figurine on my coffee table shook its bell for several long minutes though there was no breeze - no shaking of the table - and no one around but me to witness it. Then there was the man at the top of the hill. We live along a busy route that winds around the spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We're quite close to a government secret bunker, I hear helicopters daily, and not far from there is the site of a horrific airplane crash which in 1971 resulted in the death of 92 people. 

Ghosts have been reported along this road for years. A woman, dressed in a business suit and pulling luggage behind her has been witnessed on the road, and the ubiquitous lady in gray wanders the road - though I've haven't seen either of them. My ghost was unexpected. Jarring. After years of seeing weird stuff I was...startled. And then a little bit frightened.

Waiting at the top of the lane for my daughters' school bus, I had my head down and was reading a book. Raising my head, I saw a young man in his early 20s standing about five yards in back of my car. Wearing tan pants, a striped shirt, and sporting a wild shock of curly black hair, he stood with his hands on his hips and stared. At me. Our eyes met in the rear view mirror. I immediately turned around but no one was there. I know what I saw. I don't think he was from the plane crash - there was no young man of his description in the logs. 

A few days later, I pulled out onto the main road from our lane. There's a curve going north and it's a bit hard to see when cars come around, so we're always careful to not pull out too soon. That day, I pulled out after checking for cars and saw a black Scion-type car whiz past me. I jerked my car hard to the left and nearly hit a row of mailboxes. No car. And no sound. The forest had gone silent around me. 

A week later, the Santa figurine started to ring his bell. A month after that, Llewellyn Publishing contacted me about writing a book on haunted objects. I figured I had this covered.