Batavia was monotonous, or so I discovered upon setting my foot on the coarse gravel of the port.

"Haasten, Anna. Haasten,"

The place was exactly like what my friends Carlijn and Maria had described earlier before I left in school.

They had only been in the Netherlands for a year, juxtapose with the whole sixteen years I spent in my country of birth.

Carlijn and Maria were both born in Hindia, Carlijn in Soerabaja and Maria in Batavia. They were both second cousins, their fathers acquiring a relatively huge family business exporting spices from Molukken back to the Netherlands.

Of course, upon hearing of my father's relocation by his company to Batavia, Carlijn and Maria both approached me in class and started describing how incorrigibly plain the place is.

"Grey, im zeggen u Anna. We were both born and raised there so perhaps all we had been accustomed to were the bleakness of Hindia. We never noticed the starkness of poor old Batavia while we were there because we did not have anything to compare it with. Every object is measured as relatives to other objects. We had no relatives to measure Hindia by, but upon reaching Netherlands last year, we soon realized what a benediction it was to finally be home. Pray God, we simply cannot imagine having lived in Batavia all those years, the thought in itself is frightening,"

I did not know how to respond to Carlijn's drear depictions of Batavia. Papa had promised a land of sunshine, and wealth; a land of promises and beauty. I trusted Papa because he had never let me down. However, as Papa and Mama both loaded our bags to the horse carriage that is going to take us to our housing for the night before we impart on a longer journey to Soerabaja tomorrow morning, I took a closer, more scrutinizing look at the colony around me.

A chill ran up my spine, an eerie chill, and as I turned around to climb up the carriage I bumped into a girl, perhaps my age with long thick, black curls. She fell to the ground almost abruptly, and I did to.

She looked at me, eyes clearly terrified.

"Maaf Madam. Maaf,"

As the girl stood up, I saw that her arms were covered with scar, and that there were marks which looked like burn wounds in some places on her right leg.

The girl looked at me again, before she picked up her steps and hurried away from me.

"Anna Maria, Bent u al terecht? Hurry, get on the carriage. We have a long way to go,"

Father helped me got up on the carriage and as it trotted away I could not help but turn around and look at the girl. Her small figure slowly disappearing as it disappeared deeper and deeper into the busyness of the port.

The same chill ran up my spine. I did not know why, but this second one felt more uncannily eerie.