My name is James Twain. At a little past 2 a.m. on the night of January 3rd, 2007, I was

awakened by knock at the front door of my recently purchased house in Little John, Illinois.

When the knocking didn't stop, I got up, went down the stairs, and opened the door. A man

was standing outside in the cold, a man of about 40-45, somewhat short, bald, wearing a white

t-shirt and sweatpants. He said he had flipped his car at the end of the road, and wanted to know if

he could use my phone. He didn't seem injured at all, and he confirmed this to me. He'd swerved

to avoid a man on a bicycle coming around the corner, and hit a freak bump and overcompensated

by jerking the wheel to avoid a stump. And the next thing he knew, the entire car was upside down.

No one had been hurt. The man didn't seem to terribly disturbed by this just inconvenienced.

I let him come in, and pointed him to the phone in the kitchen. And when he went that way,

I stepped out onto the front stoop. Green Temple Road was a very long one, so I couldn't see

to the end of it. No other cars went by on the road. It was bitterly cold, so I went back inside

pretty quickly. The man was already coming back out of the kitchen, his call had been very quick.

I asked him if he wanted some water or something, but he politely declined.

I had to ask him the question of why he'd walked all the way to my house instead of something

closer. And he shook his head and looked away, saying that he felt like he might be in shock.

And he looked up and down himself to make sure he was absolutely not injured.

He didn't remember hitting his head, but he couldn't be totally sure.

I told him to sit down that we really should call for an ambulance, but he positively didn't want that.

He apologized for troubling me and headed out the door without another word.

I wondered who exactly he had called when he was in the kitchen.

I watched him head to the west, walking more or less normally, until he disappeared into the dark

...