Ebrugh Report 6: The Sight of Death

This Ebrugh Report is about a pyhysician that looks for plants that are said to prolong life.
==Short Summary==
In pursuit of new medicinal discoveries, a dedicated physician embarks on a journey to Tunisia. His quest takes an unexpected turn when he uncovers a fascinating tale about an immortal man named Yapnik, meticulously recorded by an ancient tribe. According to their tradition, individuals of this tribe were reputedly capable of entering deep trances that enabled them to perceive the approach of Death, a sight few could claim to witness.
Intrigued by the possibility of finding herbs or plants that could potentially extend human lifespan, the physician delves deeper into this mysterious narrative. As the physician's exploration continues, he becomes increasingly drawn into the narrative and the tantalizing prospect of finding the elusive secret to prolonging life. However, his journey takes a startling twist when he stumbles upon a concealed cave, wherein he makes a terrible discovery. Inside the cave, he encounters the astonishing sight of the seemingly immortal Yapnik, whose physical form has withstood the test of time, though in a state of advanced decay.
==Rumoured Origin==
These writings – translated to English by Ramon Ramirez – came from a Portuguese physician who travelled Tunisia between 1999 and 2001. He published this story in a dubious magazine where it was only laughed at in 2009. Unfortunately, the author censored the location of a certain cave.
==Report==
A few years ago, during a sabbatical year, I took some time off teaching medicine and embarked on a long journey to Tunisia to learn about the cultures and languages there.
The journey was, overall, very fruitful and a variety of wonderful experiences and acquaintances still enrich my life, but I would also like to share an experience that I have been trying to suppress since then.
On that trip, in addition to the Tunisian indigenous people themselves, my studies were also focused on their medicine (for professional reasons) and on the ancient rituals that I hoped to learn in the hot desert from nomadic tribes or other ancient communities. I also hoped to get new ideas for therapies and medicines, since as a physician and researcher I often encountered cases of diseases that were not curable or difficult to cure.
My journey began in Tunis and the city welcomed me immediately with open arms. Although there were many dreary prefabricated buildings reaching up into the sky, the lights in the many apartments were always inviting and cheerful conversations came out of the open windows during the hot evening hours.
I had booked a place to stay in advance, and a colleague had invited me to join him at his workplace for a few weeks, so I was soon standing outside the National Heritage Institute to meet him on the second day of my arrival. The building looked serene and sublime from the outside. The facade was painted snow-white and at the top I could make out beautiful battlements that sat on the head of the institute like a crown. The entrance consisted of a large door framed by an ornate archway, inviting me to enter a world of past testimonies. I had arranged to meet my colleague at lunchtime, but had arrived a little earlier in order to gather impressions of Tunisian architecture at my leisure, and so I admired the building's small courtyard with particular pleasure. From the outside, the institute had appeared comparatively plain, and its splendor was expressed only in the small details I already mentioned. The courtyard, however, looked magnificent, the walls decorated with gold, silver and bronze rectangular patterns, the ground neatly paved and decorated with plants. How fortunate that such a beautiful building had survived the test of time, the earthquakes, the wars, without any damage to the masonry. I immediately felt at home and was happy to begin my journey of discovery in this place.
While I was relaxing there in the midday sun, energetic, my esteemed colleague came out of one of the side doors and waved me over delightedly. After we greeted each other, he led me straight into the building and showed me some archive rooms where stacks of old books were stored, and even parchments and papyrus scrolls sat in some display cases. I could hardly wait to look around and discover foreign secrets. Some of the documents had not yet been translated or sifted, as not enough staff could be hired to catalog and summarize all of them, so I hoped to find some texts not yet commonly known that might even document new medical methodologies and views.
After we went to my colleague's office after a short tour of the building, I could not get my thoughts away from that chamber. What knowledge could I find there? What techniques had the ancient African tribes developed that were still unknown to us? Techniques that could perhaps help many people? That made it possible for us to find new ways of recovery, which were more pleasant than some modern procedures?
What treasures could I bring back for my undergraduate and graduate students?
I found it difficult to have a rational talk with my colleague. My thoughts could not engage in conversation, so full were they of reverie. He seemed to notice, but said nothing, knowing my
eagerness caused by the prospect of new possible findings. It seemed like an eternity until he finally led me back to that archive which had fascinated me so much.
We looked through some of the books together and he also showed me some of the old scrolls, which could only be touched with gloves and extreme caution. There were books and writings about many of the ancient nomadic tribes, about the desert shamans and communities that hunted the animals of the savannah. About vast desolate plains, thriving oases and deep caves. About myths and legends and accounts of the nomads' experiences. When it got late, my colleague left me alone, because he noticed that my urge to explore was more and more sparked and that I would probably not come to rest soon. I was grateful to him for this, since normally only the employees were allowed into these rooms on their own, because many of the documents were unique and thus irreplaceable. However, the two of us had a long-standing friendship and one of the local employees was still working in his office, so my colleague let me have my way.
Thus, I finally dug into the old documents like a desert mouse into the sand and stayed there until deep into the night.
The next few days were similar, and I used every free minute that I didn't spend walking through the city and exploring small stores to read further into the old documents. They were not sorted thematically, of course, and so I had to search for a long time before I found medical texts. Finally, in one of the display cases that stood inconspicuously in the corner, some distance away from the others, I found loot.
It were rancid-smelling, weathered pages of old parchment, representing the transcript of a tale that had probably been conceived by a native as a horror story and passed down for decades until someone finally edited it for what seemed to be a wider audience.
The tale was written in one of the ancient languages I had acquired during earlier studies of these lands. It was simple and did not consist of as many words as my native tongue, so it took me some effort and time to translate its contents. Many evenings I must have sat there, absorbed in the ancient symbols, until the words finally coalesced into a narrative that made me feel a certain unease. This almost mystical seeming report ventured sometimes into medical topics, which attracted me by their allegedly unbelievable effects. But there were also other, more disturbing things in it....
I'll try to reproduce everything here to my best abilities, but I've decided to add some words and expressions to better get the message across:
----"The Berber tribe is certainly known to some. I myself do not belong directly to this ancient culture, but to a small, isolated branch. We maintain some similar customs but are very different regarding other practices. For example, we are sedentary and have some different myths and religious beliefs, as well as partly different spirits and demon beings that we believe in. It may be that people in the years to come will not think much of reports like this, but what I want to pass on here to as many as possible is my experience and therefore not a made-up horror story, but the truth.
Even as a small boy I was very interested in my ancestors and tried to listen as often as possible to the stories of the tribal elders, which they liked to tell when the men returned from hunting. We children were usually told simple tales that would explain basic things and views of the tribe, but I longed for the other stories as well.
For the stories that were told when there were no more children around. I longed for the reports that the elders brought back from those other, higher spheres into which they floated under the
influence of certain medicines. It was not granted to me for a long time to learn what exactly they said, but now and then something leaked through to me.
This includes the rumors that were spread over and over again about the end of our lives, which were talked about repeatedly in fearful whispers, which made them seem terribly real. And through these ancient tales from the travels to the higher spheres, probably one of the cores of our religion had grown: for us, as in many other cultures, life and death are two inseparable things that coexist in symbiosis. But this was not all that was repeatedly experienced during ritualistic frenzies. Through ingestion of certain plants and their effect on the eyes, further beliefs were formed:
We believe that every life is released into the world at conception along with its death.
This idea always made me terribly uncomfortable, and I understand why it was kept away from young children. Because if it were true, the whole of life would be just an escape that could never be won and especially at a young age such an idea is not easy to deal with.
But that was not the worst thing that made this part of our faith so disturbing. No, more terrifying was that the men and women nearing their end, under the influence of those particular plants that made them see, often reported a strange shadow that seemed to haunt them. I used to get scared when they talked about the strange being that was slowly coming towards them to finally grab them. Their eyes widened after eating the special plants, their voices became quiet, and they looked disturbed at a spot which seemed to be sometimes far away or sometimes close to them.
But that was not the worst thing I experienced in this context. I must have been five years old when one of the hunting parties ran frantically back to camp, one of the men having apparently been attacked by a lion, and a gruesome, deep flesh wound gaping in his side. The man groaned in pain and even from a distance I could smell a faint odor of putrefaction that had already begun to infest the man's intestines. He was hastily carried to one of the huts where the wise men were living, hoping that he could still be saved. The other hunters were confused and yelled at each other in helpless rage, seemingly to blaming each other. So, I managed to sneak behind the hut in the commotion and hide there. I heard the injured man crying and shrieking, saw through a crack in the hut wall how he was writhing in agony, and they tried to clean the wound with cloths. The wise men gave him soothing medicine, however, there must have also been some of the plants within by mistake, which were not really meant for such situations. I am not sure, but I suspect that the wise men had forgotten to clean the containers of the medicine thoroughly and so...
So one of the plants also found its way into the man's stomach and allowed him... to see.
After first becoming still, his eyes suddenly widened, staring at something in the immediate vicinity, and his mouth released a wailing, bloodcurdling shriek, a scream like I had never heard before, full of panic, horror, and despair. I never forgot that sound, not in all these years. The injured man began to rear up and crawl away, away from something unknown, which he would not let out of his sight. It was necessary to hold him down to prevent him from hurting himself even more, but he struggled against the other men, flailing wildly. Then, suddenly, he screamed again, stared forward, and began to convulse violently. Only gurgling sounds came from his throat until his eyes went out and his corpse was left on the floor of the hut.
This incident had not only traumatized me: The wise men, who were also sitting in the hut, looked at the dead man and ordered each other, distraught, not to tell anyone about the exact circumstances of the death and to keep quiet about the fact that a piece of those plants must have gotten into the tranquilizers.
I have never eaten those crimson, nine-leaved plants, which are probably only found in certain caves in our mountains, because after that experience I had a nameless fear of seeing... something.
I don't know what I would have caught with my eyes otherwise. Would I have gone crazy at the sight of that figure that was slowly walking in my direction? Probably I would not have gotten the plant anyway, since it was intended only for the few old wise men who could control themselves and had more experience with this subject.
But there is something else in connection with death during my childhood that I also remember very vividly: the day when old Yapnik came to our village. Whether that was his real name I can't say, because the words mean something like "misfortune" and in our culture would probably not have been given to anyone at birth for reasons of superstition.
It started when I got the feeling that something was wrong. There was unrest among the adults and we children had to stay in some caves nearby while the others greeted the old man with trepidation. My grandfather, who was still alive at that time, would not tell me the reason for the commotion, but I saw a puzzling fear in his face whenever I mentioned the subject. I remember everything as if it was yesterday, sitting around a fire in the musty cave with my friends, passing the time with our homemade toys. But the tension seemed to crackle in the air, so me and one of my playmates slowly made our way to the entrance of the cave. I remember looking outside, trying to catch a quick glimpse of old Yapnik, of whom everyone seemed to be so afraid. It wasn't long before I could make out the elders coming out of a cave and escorting an ancient man outside. Yapnik was emaciated and leaning on a gnarled staff that he thrust into the desert floor with each step to find his footing. He looked incredibly frail, and a white shaggy beard hid most of the lower half of his face. His eyes were tired and sunken, yet he seemed to radiate a wisdom I had never seen in a human being. Slowly he trotted away, always scanning the mountains and the desert floor behind him, as if he were expecting someone - or something - there. It took him some time to get far enough away to leave the cave again. After he disappeared behind the horizon, things quieted down again, and it was as if he had never visited in the first place.
In the evening I asked my grandfather what Yapnik was all about. It took me some time and soothing drinks to get him to talk, but eventually his tongue loosened.
He reported that Yapnik came to our village every few years to get some robust seeds because he lived in a cave far away and had to fend for himself. The last time he had come, he said, was when my grandfather was much younger. What he then told me, I thought was a joke at first.
"Yapnik has... done something that is against all nature. According to the rumors and legends, he was once a great sage who was well versed in the herbs and potions of our desolate land. It is said that when his time came, he... escaped his death."
"Escaped? What do you mean, Grandfather?", I asked, confused.
"You know what they say. Each of us has their pursuer. Their death. When it catches up with us and seizes us at the end of our days, our lives are over. But Yapnik... he is said to have escaped his death. I never believed those stories, but now that I have seen him today, this person who was undoubtedly the same as he was all those years ago..."
I didn't believe him. True, I had heard many fantastic tales, but to escape death, that was too insane.
For a long time, I thought the rumors about Yapnik were bogus, but when I turned forty, the man came back. An agitated group of our hunters reported an old sage leaning on a stick approaching our tribe. The encounter with Yapnik was eerie and terrifying. It was undoubtedly the man I had seen in my childhood days, but time had not left him in peace. His beard had grown, his teeth had fallen out, his eyes were almost blind and white, his body was trembling. His voice was hoarse, and he didn't seem to be in his right mind. He had grown old, ancient, but without any doubt it was Yapnik. Had he really left behind that which gave our life its value?"
----I read those lines on the faded papyrus strips and could not believe my eyes. Unbelievable! I never expected to find such a great story. It had contained so many more medical hints than I had dreamed of. Sedative medicine, which could possibly be used as an anesthetic or as an antidepressant! And that strange plant which could cause disturbing anxiety, insane hallucinations, and delusions of paranoia!
In the following days of my stay in Tunis, I searched and studied all the accounts of the tribe from which that story came in the archives. Many of them were written in languages that were more familiar to me, and so it was thankfully easier for me to obtain information. To my disappointment, I found out that the members of the tribe had probably fallen victim to a drought. Nevertheless, my fascination was so strong that I decided not to give up. I had to know something about these medicines!
My first clue was the cave where Yapnik had supposedly stayed for most of his life. I had to find it. I soon knew where exactly the tribe had lived, in what area they had hunted, and so perhaps I would find said cave nearby: After all, the old man could not have traveled dozens of miles in his old age! So, I decided to travel to that area, perhaps to find the cave where old Yapnik was supposed to have lived. I did not believe, of course, that the man was immortal, but he had probably attained such medical skills that his life span far exceeded the average fifty years of the other tribal people. I did not know exactly how old the documents and the report were, but more than four hundred years could not have passed since they were written.
If I could find that cave, maybe I would discover records of that old man, who surely possessed the ability to write with his knowledge. Maybe I would learn something myself! In the worst case, I would make a fruitless excursion through the dazzling desert! I discussed the expedition with my colleague, who thought it unpromising, but nevertheless supported me in planning it.
Thus, I rented a vehicle that could carry me across the sometimes rough terrain to the former home of the extinct tribe and at lunchtime I began my excursion into the sublime rocky desert of Tunisia, where I sought new knowledge. The area was hot and rocky and I was glad for the water canisters I had loaded onto my jeep. A vast expanse stretched out before me, barren soil and withered bushes. It had been several months since the rainy season and the desert was trying to sustain life with its last strength. Cacti and thorny plants lined my path and the car carried me further and further into the wasteland. Slowly, the climate was getting to me. The dryness was seeping into my lungs and made it difficult to breathe. The car kept kicking up sand and only with a cloth in front of my face and sunglasses could I maintain any orientation and focus.
In the evening, I finally arrived at a small oasis that seemed untouched by civilizations. It was a small green spot in the middle of the desolate area, where I was able to completely refill the water canisters. Dreamily it lay there, in the midst of the wasteland, lush and wonderful. The desert nights were cold, so I had to wrap myself in some blankets while I tried to find rest in the back of my vehicle.
But during the night, in the solitude, thoughts came to my mind that I had repressed since I first read that story....
Was I also being followed? Here in the desert? Were we all haunted, pursued by that shadow that brought our end? I had been so carried away by the tale and its medical aspects that I had not considered the other possibility: what if this little tribe had found a new truth about death? What if I, too, had a companion walking in my direction, perhaps wandering somewhere in this desert, following behind me, getting closer and closer?
I quickly became wide awake again and looked around. Nothing but emptiness was to be seen around me. Only desolation and eternal nothingness.
Was it there? My death? On this vast plain?
How far away was it? Years? Months? Hours?
What if I got a problem with the vehicle the next day? What if the axle broke? The radio failed? What if I got stranded here, away from people, alone in the eternal desert? Wouldn't it be very close by then? Close to me and the car?
Deep inside me, I became afraid. Afraid of ending. Afraid to stop.
Didn't I feel its presence? Wasn't my death already close and advancing in my direction?
What was after it? Was there anything after it?
Or was there nothing and I expired, my soul, my memories, all the moments that meant something to me, that I treasured, that made me who I am? Would a shadow take hold of them and drag them into eternal darkness? Would my body be found, out here? Or would vultures devour it, glad of the meal that helped them in their own flight, keeping their death away?
Trembling, I lay there, breathing hard, thinking only of my end. Would it be soon? Or not for many years? Did I even want to know?
But I had to find the medicine. Maybe I could stop it that way. Delay it. Maybe I could even cure other people and push their shadow further away so they could enjoy many more years! I had to keep searching, despite the fear.
Shaking, but with a goal in mind, I fell asleep.
Thanks to all the information I had gathered, I was able to narrow down the area of the cave’s location very well. It was a mountainous area that suddenly rose from the flat desert floor. Entrances to several cave systems could be spotted in the many rock walls, and I was getting ready to finally reach the lair of Yapnik to expand my medical knowledge.
The first two holes I found in the stone walls were ownerless hollows where no human had probably ever dwelled. The third was deeper and almost looked like an eerie maw that wanted to swallow me. It was already getting late and the sun was setting, which made the temperatures a little more bearable. Still, I was sweating terribly. Or was that fear? The maw was deep and the entrance led into the dark abysses of the earth. I decided to try my luck here and, with only a torch light and some drinking water in my backpack, I entered that tunnel that might bring me closer to the foundation of that strange tale. At first, I had some trouble to advance further, because the air was warm and stuffy and again and again debris slipped away under my feet, so that more than once I almost lost my footing and threatened to fall to the ground. The cave became narrower and narrower, and the ceiling soon no longer allowed for me to walk. Determined and almost delirious, I decided to kneel down and continue, crawling. I had to be careful, as some of the stones were angular and sharp and could cut open my hands and knees if I wasn't careful. The pace of my exploration slowed down and I was finding it harder and harder to get air as I kept kicking up dust that got into my nose even
through the cloth in front of my mouth. My hands and knees were hurting, and my backpack was getting heavy. Eventually, I came to a place where the tunnel got even smaller and left only a tiny opening, so I had to push my luggage through first to fit through. After that, fortunately, the passage got a little bigger again and I continued to push my way forward. Finally, I reached a fork.
What should I do now?
I was exhausted and wet with sweat, my clothes were sticking to my body, and I decided to sit down first to take a breath. Then I looked at the two paths I could take. One seemed to lead more upward and to the surface, the other led deeper into the mountain. A possible way out and a possible way down - perhaps to the cave of Yapnik. Or was the old man's living space further up? If so, the right path would be the one that took me out of this cave system. I decided to return to the surface first to get some orientation, but only after going a few steps deeper into the mountain, to make sure not to run into a dead end after a few steps anyway. So, I took the left path into the mountain first, just to see that it was passable.
I hadn't gone far when I noticed the crimson, nine-leafed plants growing out of the cave floor, like a carpet. Were these... the plants from the story? The ones that were used to...
I had to examine them, I had to take them!
I didn't hesitate long and stuffed a large bunch of them into my bag. Was this the right way after all? Was this the way to Yapnik's living area? Maybe I should walk a little further in that direction after all? In any case, there was a good chance of finding other medicinal plants.
Maybe a moss?
So, I climbed further into the mountain. My steps became faster and faster, driven by eagerness. Once I almost tripped over a large stone, another time over rotten wood remains. The air was now not only stuffy and hot, but it was also getting bad and I smelled rot. It reeked of a dead animal. Had perhaps an injured lion lost its way in here and met its end in these tunnels?
I climbed ahead, ever ahead, deeper, and then....
Then I heard them in the darkness.
Words in the language I had seen on those papyrus scrolls the days before.
"Who... is there? Who... is there? Is that you?"
The voice sounded faint and probably would not have been audible if the echoing walls had not greatly amplified it. I was thunderstruck and moved forward, slowly now, waving my lamp in the direction from which the words had come.
The stench became more and more unbearable and brought tears to my eyes. The corridor widened and finally ended in a relatively spacious grotto. It was dark and the light from my lamp twitched searchingly around the room as I wiped the tears from my eyes and searched for the source of the nauseating smell.
To my horror, I caught sight of the half-decayed cadaver of a man lying halfway under a large pile of rubble. Although I was a medical professor, I had never seen such a rotten body. The limbs were only bones with dark shreds of flesh clinging to them. The torso was so eaten away by time that I could see the few remains of the internal organs. The skull was covered in leathery skin and the eyes had long rotted out of their sockets and passed away. The mouth had disappeared behind a sprawling beard that moved slightly in the wind.
And then, in a mad, all-consuming panic, I realized that no breeze was wheezing that could have passed through the dirty hair.
It was the rotten mouth itself that moved slightly, whimpering in panic, frantic, hopeless, while the remains of arms and legs that were not under rubble twitched.
"Is it you? Are you my death? Have you finally found me? I should have never escaped from you. I shouldn't have listened to the whispering voices... The journeys to the higher spheres... I'm sorry, it was all a mistake! Please, come to me, I'm here! Here! Please! I'm sorry, I don't want anymore... I can't..."
No.
This couldn't be....
That's when I noticed a tremor under my feet. I looked to the remains of Yapnik and only now really noticed the pile of rubble he was lying on....
How solid were the walls? How many earthquakes had they withstood? How many more would they endure?
The trembling under my feet became stronger and I looked up where some parts of the ceiling had started to shake.
Completely out of my mind, I rushed out of the cave. I took the way I had come, squeezed through the narrowed passage, tearing my hands on the sharp stones, bumped my head again and again and finally left the devilish grotto. The trembling grew stronger, stronger, and I quickened my steps. The exit was approaching, finally, and soon I was speeding off in my jeep, away, towards the next town. I only slowly calmed down and went back to Tunis, to my friend and colleague. The earthquake proved to be one of the most severe in recent decades, and I suspect that the cave is no longer accessible.
To this day, despite my efforts to repress everything, I find myself thinking about those experiences again and again. Had Yapnik finally been found by his death in the end? Could I have helped him? As a medical man? Could I have even... killed him? I tell myself that it would have been impossible. That I had not been a pathetic coward who had betrayed his Hippocratic oath.
And… and deep down I know there was nothing I could have done. How would I have gotten him out of there? The rocks would have probably killed me. I have a terrible suspicion that, no matter what, Yapnik would have to lie rotting in that cave for all eternity, unable to die, now buried alive...
But sometimes in my dreams, when I've had too much to drink and my mind opens up, I see him crawling toward me, half-eaten, hissing:
"Give me your death! Give it to me! May you rot forever! Give it to me!"
When the thoughts of the old man and his fate become too heavy, when the fear arises in me that I might meet the same fate, I eat parts of the plants I had taken with me. For in those dark hours, the only thing that can reassure me is the sight of that slowly plodding figure, wrapped in black rags, walking towards me, coming a little closer each time.
==Characters==
*Unknown physician
*Unkown researcher
*Yapnik
== Entities & Objects ==
* Death
* Whispers in the Dreams
* Red, nine-leafed flowers
==Possible Connections to the Ebrugh==
*Yapnik mentions strange voices in his dreams.
==Trivia==
*The way the Death looks and works is similar to a poem by Stephen Moffat.