Dear Diary,
When I last left off in my previous entry, I was in dire need of a bath. I still did when Mr. Slade began leading us through the twisting maze of tunnels underneath the Mississippi River. We fought two more groups of mutated Indians before we came to a couple of rooms worth mentioning. The Indians, of course, were dispatched quickly and easily by our group. And happily for me, there were no more mud monsters until the next night.
The first room we came to was particularly grotesque! Many humans had been experimented on and their bodies were strewn about the place. One man was skinned alive, and begged us to put him out of his misery. Another man had been burned to a crisp husk. Still another man had had his face and most of his head dissolved by some type of acid. There were many more bodies in there besides these three, but it is unnecessary to list them all. Suffice to say that we abandoned that room quickly as a lost cause, and moved on to the next room.
The next room was only slightly more pleasant. Human bodies hung down from the ceiling, like the large pieces of meat in a slaughter house. To our surprise, we found that three people were still alive, and one of them happened to be August Duprey, the missing black man. We swiftly cut them down and carried them back to the house for immediate medical attention. The sun had come up while we were underground, so I finally got to take a bath in the empty house and get some well deserved rest.
While the others were taking the three victims to the local doctor, Mr. Duprey told them about the mutated Indians' plans. It seems that they were trying to collect one human for each race in the world. After collecting one of every race, they would use each person to control that person's race, and hence control the world. Mr. Duprey also told my companions that an evil ritual would be performed that very night. This ritual, if left unchecked, would complete the Indians' master plan for world domination. It had to be stopped!
At sun down, my companions and I ventured once more into the deep darkness under the churning Mississippi River. I left my attendants behind, because I had a feeling that once the magician that had created the tunnel was destroyed, the tunnel would collapse. I did not want to risk any of my girls down in the darkness; they are too precious to me.
Again, we followed Mr. Slade to a very large room where the ritual had already begun. There were three shamans. One robed shaman was chanting and spiritual power swirled in the air around his head. The second shaman's tongue stuck out of his mouth, and an eyeball at the end of that tongue stunned people it looked at. The last shaman had very long finger nails, and threw painful barbs at us. The rest of the room was full of Indian warriors and archers. A curious bag sat on the stage that the chanting shaman was standing on, and as I approached the stage, the bag started moving...
It was plain to see that the shamans were the ones who, under no circumstances, could be left alive. So, I used my vampire quickness to run on the stage and begin clawing at the chanting shaman. Unfortunately, it was at this point that they decided to release the creature inside the bag. I described earlier how gruesome the mutilations were in the room with the failed experiments. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the thing that assaulted me out of the bag! It was as if a god had taken a human and turned him inside out, like one might do to a shirt or a stocking. The creature's bones stuck out in all directions, and its organs were plain to see. A painful moan escaped its throat as it lunged at me. I was so shocked by its appearance that I did not move quickly enough to avoid the stomach acid it flung at me, and the acid melted part of my head, much like the man in the experimentation room. Luckily for me, my heart is not in my head, and I survived the encounter. Not wishing to risk having the acid spill onto my chest and eat through to my heart, I ran away back to the rest of the group, who were dealing with enemies on the far side of the room.
The rest of the battle was a blur, but I do remember that we killed almost everything in the ritual room before the tunnel started to collapse. Just as I had suspected, when the last shaman died, the magic that was holding up the tunnel began to dissipate. Mr. Krane had been nearly cut in half by our enemies, but fortunately I was able to snatch him up from the ground in time to flee with the rest back through the tunnel to the house.
I for one was happy to just not be buried under the weight of the Mississippi, but I was even more delighted to learn that Mr. Wanna-maker was paying us $200 each for our services! And yet, as wonderful as the money is, I have, of late, had a rather ominous feeling in the back of my mind. It is as if something powerful and terrible has turned its gaze upon me, and I cannot hide from it no matter how hard I try. I hope that it is just my imagination, but feelings of this sort usually end in tears...