The mysterious man knocks on your door. The storm outside rages, and lightning strikes across the sky. It is the year 1812. You live alone in the middle of the woods in a cabin. You approach the door, and look through the peephole. The man is tall, slim, and is wearing dark, 19th century attire. The brim of his hat hides his face. He speaks in a formal, low voice. "Hello. My ride has broken down on the road. May I come inside the weather the storm?" His voice is slightly ominous.