Demon Stories

Diana: Kismet, 1860, India

Diana

Kismet

1860, India

It was a very sad time in my life.

With my sad face and own silent burden to bear, I had traveled many miles to a place where none of us go. In all of my years, I had never heard a story of this place, not from any mouth, human or demon. 

And I especially knew: no story had ever come from him about this place.

This place: India.

To be precise, it was British controlled India. So perhaps it was not so foreign as it could be. But, as I stepped off that ship, I could see immediately how foreign it would be. For one thing, as far as my eyes could see, the colors were completely different from anywhere I had ever had the pleasure to be. The pinks were very deep pinks. The yellows were vibrant and bright. The greens had a bit of blue to them, perhaps. It was really a swirl of colors, and that has stayed with me all these years. 

And the smells. From out-going cargo, I could smell things which I'd never met before. Harsh stuff to my nose that was not spicy hot, yet not entirely just salty either. Sweet things. Metallic things. Wonderful things. I could not see them, but I already loved them.

These days, I can't remember what port it was. I can not remember what city or town. Those parts are not important to this story.

Getting my bearings, it was hard to remind myself why I had ended up in this specific place.

I had been in England some months prior. I didn't want to just roam without a purpose. I am not that kind of person. I need to be needed. Immediately, I went to some kind of office in London and looked for those calling for skilled female workers. At the time, a lady could only do so much private business. There weren't many choices. So through the grapevine, I heard of a job offer by a fairly rich man who owned quite a bit of acreage somewhere East. I didn't make a note of if it was China or India or somewhere else. I just wanted out of the West. 

I eagerly told appropriate sources how interested I was, no matter what the job entailed. It was here I was told it was to be a private tutor for a young daughter. The representative of the man liked how I looked. I showed him my forged documents of where I had attended for my education, but mostly I told him slightly fabricated stories of where I had been. When I told him of my travels in France, he became extremely interested, and when I demonstrated my mastery of French he signed the documents to hire me.

"The little girl must learn French," he told me, "to be a lady, she must know it." And apparently my mastery of the language as an Englishwoman gave him the impression that I must be a lady of considerable high standing which was important, too.

So here I was some months later in India, with an address in my hand. But immediately I saw that my having the address was not beneficial. For awaiting me, more close to desperately searching for me, was a small, older, dark skinned man dressed in a white long tunic type of garment with similar long pants and an interesting hat.