Wrong house

After a couple minutes, and a good deal more shivering from Candace, the door to the house eventually opened, and an unfamiliar face came out, confronted with the sight of Candace's nude body slightly shivering and not even bothering to cover itself, and Candace's dead and fatigued expression complete with a thousand-yard stare.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" said the man at the door, "You look like you need help. Come inside right away, let's get you warmed up."

Before Candace could even speak about her ordeal, or even ask the man who he was, she looked at the numbers by the door and noticed that it said "313". Fuck! Candace's parents lived at 413, and that was a couple hundred yards away. Before she could say anything, however, the man beckoned her inside, and her body instinctively moved towards the warmth of the interior and out of the cold Iowa night.

"Come, sit on the couch," the man instructed her as she walked to the couch on autopilot, "I'll make you some hot cocoa."

Candace sat down on the couch, and within seconds had been enticed into lying down on it, taking a blanket on it as the only thing she had to cover herself from the elements and the only vestige of civilization she still had left.

"So," the man asked her as he walked into the living room with the drinks for him and her, "what's your name, and how did you get here?"