My Own Twilight Zone Episode in Hanoi!

"You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension - a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone."
-Rod Sterling

The story I'm about to tell you doesn't involve any paranormal activity, or monsters, or any travel through time and space. It is however one of the weirdest things to ever happen to me. Therefor, I'm dubbing it my very own Twilight Zone episode. If you're curious, then read on.

It's 4:40 PM. I'm chilling the the lobby our hostel. We start chatting with some Canadian girls. Jennie heads over to the nearby computers, only to find that the Woman in Black, a thin woman of around 40 years wearing a black dress, who is now sitting in the back of the room, smoking quietly and drinking her coffee, has left her Yahoo account open. Upon informing her, she hurries over, in a state of confusion. She struggles to thank us in English, and I can tell she's a French-speaker; Swiss to be exact. I speak to her in French, and she immediately thanks us again. Odd, but nice I suppose.

I go back to our conversation with the Canadians. A tap on the shoulder. "Excuse me", Woman in Black shyly asks, "Do you travel much?". A normal question I suppose. I answer that I've travelled a fair bit, and ask why she asks. "Well, I have been travelling for a while, and I suspect my bank account has been accessed by someone other than me, and I am worried. Perhaps you can help me? Also, I have reason to believe that someone has cracked my email account."

I explain that she should contact her bank regarding her account. As for the email, I show her how to change her password and explain that while travelling, especially when using public computers, it would be wise to change her password fairly frequently. A look of complete confusion comes over Woman in Black's face. "Well no, if I do that, I will lose all my emails. I can't do that!", she says. I kindly explain the difference between changing a password and deleting emails. I also try to explain the difference between deleting the cache memory and any browsing history. Again, a look of total confusion, as though I am speaking Vietnamese to this Woman in Black.

Now I am no computer aficionado, as my Montreal buddies will let you know, but there are basics that I would expect some people to know, especially those who have an email account and use it abroad while travelling. But oh well. I help the Woman in Black. I show her two times in a row how to change her password, then kindly say goodbye and return to my conversation for the now third time. The Woman in Black lights another cigarette, awkwardly returns to the back of the hostel dinning area, alone, and sips another cup of coffee in the dimly-lit area. It would not be the last time I encounter the Woman in Black

Fast forward to 12:45 AM that same night. I am in bed, watching TV, about to ge to sleep, when suddenly, there's a loud knock on my door. "Who the hell is that?", Jennie asks. I go to check, but I have no peep hole. I slowly open the door, only to see a completely distraught Woman in Black, holding a cigarette in her trembling hand. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I need your help. I think my life is in danger and I don't know who else to talk to!"

What the hell is going on?

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I'm the person you should be talking to", I tell her. "Perhaps you should talk to Nam, the hostel owner. He's very friendly and helpful."

"No!", the Woman in Black shouts, "He doesn't speak French. I need to talk to a French speaker!"

Okay. At this point I get a feeling something is up. I think back to the afternoon conversation with the Woman in Black, and how she explained that she suspected her bank account was defrauded. I quickly prepare myself for some pathetic story about how she has no more money, and needs me to front her some cash. I prepare myslef to get nasty and tell her off, but there's something about the Woman in Black's face; tears begin to form in her eyes and she continues to tremble as though she just saw a ghost. I figure she's either the world's best con artist, or she's genuinely scared for her life. I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt and go downstairs to the lobby dinning area with her.

Woman in Black proceeds to tell me her Asian life story, from her time in Bangkok, her visa troubles, the man from Cameroon she met, and would later have a 3-day affair with. WHOAH, too much info! I keep politely asking her to get to the point, and what her trouble is. For 20 minutes, Woman in Black is going on, telling me tales about her almost 6 weeks spent in Southeast Asia thus far. I really lose my patience.

"What exactly do you want to tell me? What does any of this have to do with your life being in danger?", I ask in an obviously pissed off tone.

"Well," the Woman in Black answers, "The man from Cameroon asked me to be friends with him. I only wanted a little fun, but he kept insisting that we stay friends. I figured a little companionship would be nice. So I said yes. But then, he started revealing things to me, like that he used to be with the Cameroon army, and that he is now a footballer in Bangkok. he also told me that he likes surprises, and that he would like to surprise me and visit me in Hanoi."

It's now 1:20 AM. I'm thinking, WTF is going on? I again ask her what the point of all of this is, and tell her that I need to get up early, and that unless she tells me what her problem is, I'm going back to bed.

"Well, the problem is that I was using my email yesterday, and suddenly, a text box appeared on my screen. It was from him, asking if I would be his friend.", Woman in Black explains. "I figured, this is weird, but okay. I am all alone, so a friend would be nice. But since then, every time I use my email account, these weird text boxes appear on the screen, with questions from him. And my aunt usually write back to me right away, but it's been almost 12 hours since I've last heard from her."

"And? What the hell does any of that matter?", I tell her.

"Well, I have reason to believe he's taken over my email account and is somehow taking control of the computers I'm using. How else could he send me text boxes? Why else would my aunt not answer me quickly?"

Suddenly, I realize the "weird" text boxes are instant message chats, from her Yahoo account. The "friendship request" was him adding her to Yahoo chat. WTF, this is what the tears, trembling, and 12:45 AM wake-up call was for? And how the hell did she know what room to knock on? All this goes through my head. I laugh, not knowing how to explain this to her, cause she clearly has no clue.

"This guy has been sending you IMs, chat messages, from his Yahoo account to yours!", I explain.

"What? What is chat?", Woman in Black retorts.

At this point I'm think HOLY SHIT, I can't deal with you right now. I explain to her that chatting is like talking on the phone, but typing. Woman in Black says, "So it's another e-mail account?"

I see another guy on the computer, chatting. I politely tell her that she should go see what that guy is doing. He's chatting. As for her life being in danger; absolutely not. "And if you think it really is," I add, "then you need to contact the Swiss embassy. I'm sorry but I'm not the one you should be telling all this to. And, given the state you're in, I really think it's time you end your vacation and head back home."

"So my life is not in danger?", Woman in Black asks.

I laugh, "No, your life is not in danger. If this is bothering you, change your email address, and don't add this Cameroon guy. That'll be the end of this story."

"Yes, but what about the tex boxes that appear?", Woman in Black asks again.

I can't help but laugh again. "You'll be fine. Good night!"

As I make my way up the stairs, back to my room, the Woman in Black quietly returns to her table in the back of the dimly-lit dinning room, lights another cigarette, and takes another sip out of her coffee.

I return to my room, realizing this is one of the weirdest things to ever happen to me, hoping to never again see the Woman in Black.

ZA