The 15th Survivor is a weekly column which documents the adventures of a shady, fictional extra contestant on the debut season of Survivor South Africa: Panama.
Unfortunately we cannot reveal details of the author as we don't have them - no footage of The 15th Survivor was ever shot and the production crew of Survivor SA were unable to find official records of his participation in the game.
Yet he was definitely there, as his extraordinary account of events will establish.
Our shady friend sent weekly missives to someone who never got them - they arrived at the offices of TVSA via carrier pigeon, containing his explanation of the events that transpired each day during the shooting of Survivor.
We embargoed them to release as a weekly journal to go with each week's episode, so as to avoid any confusion or spoilers.
We have no idea who he is, but we know what he is - here's an extract from the very first bloodstained note that arrived on our window sill two months ago, when we first became aware of the 15th Survivor's existence:
"...and thus it came to be that after four desperate years of running from Juan Alonso de Arroyo and his fiendish henchmen I slipped over the Colombian border back into Panama in the dead of night, somewhere near the beginning of June.
"Arroyo and his cronies may be sadistic butchers who simply cannot let bygones be bygones, but not even they dared follow me into the black night of Panama.
"Local superstition tells terrible tales of dead men rising from their watery graves in the dark waters surrounding the Pearl Islands, trailing their soggy bones through coastal villages in the dead of night seeking vengeance for the injustices that caused their deaths.
"I don't put much stock in such nonsense, but even I felt the wind grow sharper once I'd crossed the border. Maybe it was just my imagination, but that wind felt like a cold, bony finger of death tracing its way down my spine, as if by way of insinuation.
"Raising my collar I continued on, firm in my resolve.
"I knew that I could never stop running until such time as I'd retrieved the treasure I stole from Arroyo all those years ago.
"At one time it seemed like my salvation, but it had become a millstone around my neck ever since Alvaro 'Los Lobos' Hermoso sang like a sweet little bird in Arroyo's dungeons one warm night in mid-May.
"Too many people had died - I knew I had to end this thing.
"I can now reveal to you what I have not been able to tell anyone else for so long - where the treasure is hidden.
"In the middle of a storm four years ago our pirate ship surprised Arroyo's men with a vicious, bloody fight in the Gulf of Panama.
"With our sails down and all of us quiet as churchmice it looked to Arroyo's crew as though we were mere drifting deadwood, but as soon as they pulled up alongside our vessel we raised the Jolly Roger with bloodcurdling yells and boarded Arroyo's boat with cutlasses clamped in our teeth.
"We slew anyone who stood in our way. Before long the decks were awash with blood and gore, and the sounds of dying men were whipped from their mouths by the wind and hurled out into the night.
"We had no way of knowing what lengths Arroyo's men would go to in order to protect his treasure, but we were about to find out.
"As I was hacking at the chain which tethered the treasure chest to a bulkhead there was a loud explosion and my entire world disintegrated.
"One of the last remaining Arroyo crew members had detonated a handful of dynamite in the hopes of killing us all. Death for him was preferable anyway - it would have been unwise for him to return home to Arroyo to explain the treasure had been stolen.
"I remember flying into the air with bits of boat all around me. I was unconscious by the time I hit the water.
"When I came to I was lying half-drowned and bloody on the shore of a remote island, no doubt having washed up there during the night.
"Rising painfully I squinted down the beach and saw what appeared to be a box lying half in the water. I staggered over to it and lo and behold - it was the treasure chest, still firmly locked and intact!
"Scarecely able to believe my good fortune I dragged the heavy chest up the beach and into the treeline which fringed the white sand.
"I was stopped by a miniature cliff face which I knew I couldn't climb carrying the chest. So I left the chest at the bottom covered in leaves and mud and climbed my way up the steep slope to scout around.
"There was plenty of mangrove swamp at the top and I fought my way through the jungle until I came to a clearing. In the clearing was an old, crumbling airstrip, once used by smugglers or others like myself and clearly still in use today.
"I followed a path to the outskirts of a village, but dared not go any further for fear of being spotted.
"So I skirted around the village and came to a set of crumbling ruins, no doubt once part of Maya culture. Picking my way through the ruins I came across what must at one stage have been a sacrificial altar of sorts, as there were skeletons lying about and the smell of death in the air.
"It was a creepy place even in broad daylight and I figured superstitious villagers probably never came near it. It was the ideal place to hide my ill-gotten gains.
"That night I stole into the village and lifted a length of rope from a fisherman's shack. I made my way back down the cliff face to the beach, where the treasure chest was waiting for me.
"I tied the rope around one of the handles and made my way back up the cliff. Once I got to the top I painstaking pulled the heavy chest up after me.
"It took me the whole night to drag that chest through the swamps and around the village, but as the morning sun was rising I was digging away the stones around the Mayan altar, creating a hole into which I deposited the chest.
"I covered it all up again, leaving no traces of my existence, and without a backward glance I left.
"That was four years ago. I won't bore you with details of how I made my way back to Colombia, or the unprecedented manhunt Arroyo launched.
"Suffice it to say I never had the opportunity to go back to that black island.
"Until now...
"I was trying to figure out how to get a boat to take me back to the island when I overheard some people with strange accents talking about a show that was being filmed in the Pearl Islands, called Survivor.
"I sidled up to a young technician in a local bar one night and plied him with alcohol, getting him to reveal what the show was about and where it was being shot.
"Turns out it was on the very island where I hid my treasure!
"I decided I had to get involved with the production, as I wouldn't be able to wander around the area with so many people around.
"I paid someone to add my name to the list of contestants (everyone gets paid off in these parts) and on the resort island of Contadora I found the hotel where the contestants were staying, and blended right in.
"Eveyone was new, so another new face didn't raise a single eyebrow.
"Thus would begin my journey, which I will reveal as the weeks go by. Arroyo's treasure lies beneath the very slabs of stone that have been earmarked for Tribal Councils, which means I will always be near to it.
"People talk, and I have no idea if Arroyo has got wind of what I'm doing or where I am. All I know is that I've survived for four years so far by never sleeping, always looking over my shoulder and keeping my senses keen and sharp.
"Every one of the contestants I am with is a potential threat to me and my goal to resurrect the treasure, and all shall be treated with suspicion and mistrust.
"They are playing a game of Survivor and I am too - only they're playing for just a million doubloons and a bit of fun, while I'm playing for the chance to save my own wretched life.
"Ah! Our plane seems to be landing, and if I'm not much mistaken it's on the old airstrip I discovered all those years ago.
"I must be off now - the flight is getting jerky and I'm finding it difficult to write. I've got to go now, Tony, and I need you to safeguard the information I'm going to send you during my stay on the Pearl Islands.
"In the event of my sudden and unfortunate death I want there to be a record of what happened, so that others may learn and maybe be less foolish than I.
"Do not let these notes end up in the wrong hands, or my cover could get blown.
"I'm trusting you, my dear friend."
Signed
XThe note was addressed to Tony 'Half-Tongue' Cruz of Barranquilla, Colombia. Obviously the letters were meant for him, but for some reason they ended up at our offices instead, halfway round the world.
Must have been a defective pigeon.
We feel it is safe to publish the letters - even though the show has just started in South Africa the filming is already over and the events on the island have already concluded.
We still don't know the identity of The 15th Survivor, but we do know one thing - he has an incredible story to tell.
Tune in each week for the story behind the story of Survivor South Africa - one in which the truth is more compelling than the fantasy of storyboard editors.
This is: The 15th Survivor.