Dear Johnny,
Oh my word,
kharisiri are real! They look human, but in an instant, their mouth transforms
into a hideous gaping circle of teeth, like a lamprey eel. They feed on people
and animals, sucking the fat from their victims, leaving them shriveled like
raisins. That, or their victim could be left alive, which might be worse.
Instead of feeding on fat, the kharisiri shoves its hideously long tongue down
its victim’s throat—like a nightmarish French kiss—and implants a larva in
their belly. How do I know all this? Local folklore and first-hand
experience! Horrifying yet somehow gratifying to learn of this. I just knew
there was something else out there—beyond what normal society accepts. The
question is, what more is there? I’ve got to know.
Here's the
story. Jackson and our little expedition team met up with a professor of
archaeology at the local university. The professor’s student assistant was
taking overly long to return with a document, so we searched for her and found
her dead, emaciated with a circular wound on her chest. We found the document
she was fetching. It dated back to 1543 and mentioned Luis De Mendoza. We also
found a large chunk of gold, runes written across it, with residue from a burnt
handprint. Pulling ourselves together and grabbing the gold, we followed bloody
footprints outside to a chaotic scene of blood and screaming people. As we ran,
we heard a gunshot coming from the professor’s office. We arrived in time to
see Jackson in a pool of blood and Mendoza hunched over the flailing professor.
It’s official, Mendoza is what the locals call a kharisiri. Ruben and I shot
Mendoza, but his wounds healed—squeezed the bullets right out of his flesh.
Mendoza attacked Ruben, but Silas bashed Mendoza with that heavy chunk of gold,
causing acid—probably used by Kharisiri to melt the fat of their victims—to
burn Ruben’s face. The professor, meanwhile, was hysterical. Rightly so. There
was something moving in his belly. Summoning my medical training and nerves, I
cut into the professor’s belly. A disgusting larva slithered out and up my arm.
I flicked it away and Ruben squished it. Too bad we couldn’t preserve it for
study. I forgot where our Professor Thompson was during this. I think paralyzed
with fear and horror. At some point, Mendoza fled. Presumably healed like with
the bullets.
We gave a
passable testimony to the police. Jackson was bandaged and returned to the
hotel. The professor survived the ordeal in his office only to be killed at the
hospital. I assume murdered by Mendoza. Unanimously, we decided to set sail for
Puno instead of meeting up with Larkin. How would that have gone, anyway? ”Say,
Larkin, did you know that your man Mendoza is a fat-sucking, larva-implanting,
murder monster from the 1500s?” Larkin is clearly in on it.
In Puno, we
discovered more unnatural beings. An old woman and a teenage boy suspiciously
observed Jackson from a distance. When Silas and I approached, the boy ran, and
the woman was uncooperative. Silas pointed out her distended stomach—like with
the professor and his larva—and we hastily retreated to the others. Ruben
spotted the boy, who also had a distended stomach. Now we are wary of anyone
exhibiting this symptom. One night on our trek to the pyramid, one of our
alpacas was attacked by one of those things. It was emaciated like the student
in Lima. How many of those monsters are out here? The next day, we came across
a man whose son had just been attacked by the old woman and teenage boy duo. I
managed to stabilize the son, Domingo, and we all returned to the man’s house
to treat Domingo further and to regroup. We will set out tomorrow for the
pyramid, guided by the father, Julio.
Sally
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