Wilder Things Magazine
Volume 03
Here, There Be Monsters
Letter From the Staff
Dear Reader,
​
As the Wilder Things staff started to review submissions for our very first online publication, we were struck by the amount of pieces that dealt with monsters. These horrors took many forms, chasing us into our own heads, but their presence was impossible to ignore. Upon further reflection, the presence of so many monsters shouldn’t have been surprising. So many new monstrosities are rearing their ugly heads and joining the presence of the monsters that never disappeared in the first place. This world has started to feel like a hydra, which no amount of Herculean warriors or fire could ever hope to defeat.
​
The thing about monsters is that we can never escape them. They will always be here, preying on our fears and insecurities. They will always lurk in corners, or under beds, or in our own heads. Monsters cause us to come to a halt, to wonder what we are capable of, and to remember all the times we’ve failed in the past. They make us wonder if we have become too comfortable with monstrosity. If we have become monsters ourselves.
But the other wonderful, brilliant, bright fact of life is that we are resilient. Humankind has an astounding power in our ability to take what we are given and make it into something better. When we are faced with darkness, we find ways to bring back the light. When we are burdened with monsters, we find ways to defeat them.
We usher you across the threshold of the third volume of Wilder Things with the sole intent of reminding you that despite all the monsters on and off the page, you have the tools to defeat them. No matter the form, you have the strength and power to make the world around you the one you want to live in. For while we can never escape monsters, we can defeat them. This is not a mere hope, or a desire. Defeating monsters isn’t wishful thinking, but an action we take every single day. And with this issue, the staff of Wilder Things hopes to show you that your sword is not a fantasy, but a reality.
With Love,
The Wilder Things Staff
We invite you to follow us through the doorway into the unknown
Staff Masthead
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Natalie Muglia
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ASSISTANT
Miranda Miller
MANAGING AND PRODUCTION DIRECTOR
Carmela Furio
DESIGN TEAM
Eleanor Hildebrandt
Hayden Williams
MARKETING TEAM
WEB EDITOR
Lydia Hecker
WRITING WORKSHOP EDITORS
Alec Glisson
Josh Hart
Miranda Miller
WRITING COPY EDITORS
Meghan Bloom
Kylie Boksa
Morgan Corbett
Alyssa Reed
Elsa Richardson-Bach
Zachary Warne
Table of Contents
EVALUATION DAY
Eva Hagavik
University of Winchester
Science Fiction | Dystopian
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Ellie looked away from the clock on the wall. She could still hear it in the background, looking down on her.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
She drummed on her lap with thin fingers. Her eyes wandered around, scanning the others in the waiting room. There were many of them today, too many to count, but in the end, there were only really five. Five people, many bodies.
One: nicely kept hair, fancy suit, their fingers moving swiftly over expensive smartphones. For them, Evaluation was like any other appointment. It was the same as having to renew their passport. Mundane and a bit tedious. But they were safe, and it showed on their faces. No sweat. No twitching. No darting eyes.
Two: casual and ordinary. They’d been snapped out of their normal life at home, maybe with a kid, a partner, maybe a dog they just fed. In their head, they were writing shopping lists and to-do lists and dinner plans. Maybe they were a bit nervous, but far from terrified.
The Monster Under My Bed
Abbie Christelow
University of Winchester
Horror
There’s a monster under my bed.
She doesn’t talk, but she’s not a baby monster because a baby monster would cry. This monster doesn’t cry. She snarls and growls and sometimes she screams, and I can’t sleep because it won’t stop. Why won’t it stop?
I told Mummy and Daddy. They said there was no monster, that they checked and everything. They even checked under Little Jack’s bed, but they said she wasn’t there either.
They’re silly. Everyone knows you can’t see the monster.
She’s just there.
Meena
Sakina Qazi
University of Miami
Romance
One more vermilion rose
From the blossom seller, the painter buys.
‘Upon Meena’s sweet palm,
I will lay this petaled seraph,
This martyred thing of scarlet.
What sublime gifts you give,
Good vendor! Through me to Meena,
Blessed love of mine, when she comes.’
And thus the painter goes
With rose and beloved both,
To guide the mind.
Beauty is a Butcher Shop
Annie Radin
Johns Hopkins University
Horror
Mama says I’m a natural,
That I’m spoiled in my craft.
So she recruits me for more and more pageants
Like I’m a soldier in the draft.
My bones are bruised, my skin is sinking.
Mascara weighs down my eyes.
Ma tells me
Hold yourself
Like what you are--
To hold myself like a prize.
Eden
Alyvia Weigel
University of Iowa
Fantasy
She sleeps in the forest, cradled by clawed branches and dagger-like leaves. Where She lies is peaceful. Dark, suffocating, deep enough into the den of gnarled bark and twisting brush that only the bravest or the most foolish would seek Her out.
Some days, She sleeps. Other days, She watches.
She is awoken by a heartbeat. It’s a small creature with enough energy coursing through its veins to make Her senses spark.
Bark digs into the pads of Her fingertips as She rises. She had been curled inside the base of a hollowed-out tree and now clasps a hand on the rim as She regards the being before Her.
It’s a girl—She can’t tell how old, only that the thing looks as though it hasn’t quite finished growing. She has seen many humans over the years, all of different builds and colors and genders. Some have hollow cheeks and hollow eyes, knobbly joints and concave stomachs, dressed in rags and begging for riches. Others adorn themselves as though they seek to convince the world of their wealth. This girl lands squarely in between, with clothes that look threadbare but hair glossy enough to shine in the dim light.
Noroi
Caitlin Smith
University of Winchester
Horror
The mewing of the cats outside was becoming unbearable, forcing Hurei to click open the small latch on the screen door and peer out into the distant street. Mist clawed its way out of the grates and began to cover the road entirely, the blocky windows of the neighbours pitch black with sleep. A thick stench of spoiled milk lingered around Hurei, and he noticed the untouched cat bowl at the end of the driveway. Still, the cats screeched on, creating a distorted harmony with one another. The biting cold of winter scratched at his bare calves, the pale skin becoming pimpled and stiff, and quickly, he tightened the cord of his dressing gown. Yellow and fluffy, he stood out like a candle amidst the black and white setting in which he found himself.
Before him sat twelve cats, scattered around the street, some on porches, some in the darkness, and he recognised the three of his own; Miso, Cali, Rufus. He called out to them, his voice croaky with phlegm, but they didn’t respond, only mewing more loudly. His mother had told him that putting a milk bowl out would draw all the neighbourhood cats. Somehow, he didn’t think that’s what this was. Twenty-four unblinking eyes with pupils that were a mere sliver, carried on their stare. Hurei’s house appeared the target.
The Version Where the Beast Looks Like James Franco
Kali Melone
Emerson College
Mythos
In my version, the Beast is beautiful. The Beast has a Roman nose and eyes like a swinging watch. When he meets Belle, they get to talking. They end up fooling around on her couch. He’s planting sweet kisses on her neck when he snaps and bites down hard. Belle jolts back.
“What are you, crazy??”
He doesn’t blink, covers his face with his hands, and begins to weep.
“I’m sorry," he sobs. She softens. He tells her, he lashed out in fear. He doesn’t know any better. He tells her it all started a long time ago with a woman’s betrayal. The tale goes like this: He, the lovestruck boy holding roses, swooning on one knee. Her, the lurid temptress, rivaling the whore of Babylon. He, drudging on, a husk of his youth, doomed to a life of loneliness. He says he's never told this to anyone before. Belle, her eyes pin-pricked with tears, strokes his hair and assures him softly,
“Don’t be scared. You’re safe with me.”
TRITON
milo
University of Iowa
Fantasy | Mythos
Mother, give your daughter to the sea
Keep her from the waves no longer.
Humanity is not a gift, mother.
See, now, how they curse at her?
See, now, how she hides from them?
The sea is a blessing
its forests woven from silk and
its people always changing.
There is room for anonymity there.
Your daughter, mother, does not belong here
And the waves want her more than the ocean can bear.
The Mimic
Mysty Anthony
University of Miami
Science Fiction | Horror
Jason isn’t enjoying his first interplanetary research trip.
A branch snaps, and he whirls around. Nothing there. Just a dull blur of greenery he recognizes from space exploration documentaries and the bruised purples of fallen leaves. Could one of those stealthy alien predators be stalking him? Something no human could sense in time, an imperceptible huff of breath against the skin of his neck before the looming fangs strike.
Another sound makes him jump, but it’s only laughter. Familiar laughter.
“What?” Jason snaps, glaring down some monstrous combination of the plant from Little Shop of Horrors and the skeleton of a megalodon. He’s worried it’ll spring to life once he looks away.
When he dares a glance, Charlie looks like something straight from an adventure novel: khaki shorts, cargo vest, the whole shebang. She shakes her head with a smile, infuriatingly relaxed as she strides between a knot of roots raised higher than her head. “You’re totally freaking out,” she says, amused. “Haven’t you ever seen a jungle before?”
Crossing the Stars
Josephine Geiger-Lee
University of Iowa
Science Fiction
(Stories cannot start with once upon a time anymore. Time unravels at our fingertips. We rewrite our past, we abandon our presents, and we give you our futures. We plead for you to erase the woes of a world long gone; you agree for a price.
No, we cannot start with once upon a time.
Instead, we
just
start.)
Soy Sauce GF
Finch Davis
University of Iowa
Comedy
The first thing you noticed about her was the smile. I mean, it’s polite to smile at people when you meet them for the first time. It’s only worth mentioning here because noticing the smile first is so cliche that you’d assume she’s normal, at least until you sat down to eat somewhere. Then you’d notice the soy sauce. And it would be all that you would ever notice about her again.
To be fair, I fell into that trap, big time. Maybe I deserved it. When I started dating, I was doing it to fit in—the other lacrosse guys all had girlfriends to eat lunch with, study with, even sneak out of class early for little get-togethers in the backs of their cars with just before our scrimmages. I felt left out and alone, and wanted something to fill that hole in my social life. So I spent a day looking around Rainbow River Prep for the hottest chick with the least risk involved and wound up picking her. I didn’t know much about her, but I still asked her out to lunch on the way out of a bright, sunshiny pep rally. She agreed, and I spent the whole weekend waiting on Taco Tuesday’s arrival.
Collateral Damage of the Heart
Victoria Kerrigan
Kenyon College
Romance
The great bay-window spawned books against it.
favoring the tangerine-tinted greenhouse with my gaze instead.
You offered more alcohol,
Samuel Adams peeking out of the closet,
reasonably, I declined.
You reclined, beckoning.
That poster on your conveniently absent roommate's side of the wall,
​
Spines chilled, glacial.
​
My back to you,
There's Something Dead in my Chimney
Elizabeth Sloan
University of Iowa
Horror
There’s something dead in my chimney.
I know there is. I know it. Mom says I’m tired, she says I’m seeing things, and I am tired, but I’m not seeing things, I’m smelling. And the smell, that putrid, gooey smell, leads like a ball of yarn to the wood-burning fireplace in the greasy-walled living room.
It’s a sour smell, sourer than a lemon, bitter, more bitter than the bug I chewed up when I was too small to know what murder was. It’s a heavy smell; it floats over my head when I’m in my bed, choking me in the night so I cough instead of sleep. I’m tired. Even when I’m not at home, the smell lingers on my clothes, on my hair no matter how many showers I take, on my skin, my mouth. The smell leaks into every bite of food I eat.
I tell Mom over dinner, “Mom, I’ve smelled it before. It smells like Henry. It smells like the Gerbil cage after he died. Mom! There’s something dead in the chimney!” I hold my fork like a knife, balled in my fist, pointing up.
Collecting His Dues
Abigail Russell
Johns Hopkins University
Mythos | Fantasy
The town of Wolford was infested with rats. The rats caused disease and death. The town was desperate for help. The pied piper came from the forest. The pied piper led the rats to their demise. The pied piper demanded his money. The town refused. The pied piper was angry.
The town of Wolford was infested with rats. The pied piper was angry. The town was desperate for help. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper led the rats to their demise. The pied piper was angry. The town refused. The pied piper was angry.
The pied piper was angry. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper was angry. The pied piper is angry.
Mousella
Elizabeth Sloan
University of Iowa
Fantasy
In a world similar to ours but not quite the same, a little mouse named Mousella lived in a rainbow-colored tulip. She was quite handsome; she was a fieldmouse with sandy gray fur, black eyes like buttons, and a slender nose that ended in a pink tip. But her fine looks were nothing compared to her kind nature.
In a clearing in the center of the Forest, Mousella lived with her stepsister, a cute little mouse that loved naively and openly, and her stepmother, a cruel bundle of fine jewelry and rouge. Mousella’s father was rarely home; he traveled often in his little cart, selling knick-knacks to distant parts of the Forest.
“Dirtyella!” her stepmother often yelled when her husband wasn’t home. “Bring us fresh morning dew for our breakfast porridge!” Her stepmother always wore the most hideous garments made of orchids and gardenias and other flowers with obnoxious personalities. “If it takes long, you’ll get a lashing of my tail instead of dinner.”
(Sun)flower
Jessie Wu
University of Toronto
Romance
Thirst becomes hard to sate.
Beneath the sun, I forget my words. Skin glazed,
peeling at the corners; this is just to say—
love is but an aggregate.
Show me all your layers.
Forget daylight; bloom at night, where
your petals shine, incandescent and oblivious
to my desperate prayers.
Something Bright is Beckoning
Erica Stover
Johns Hopkins University
Science Fiction
She brought me flowers on a Tuesday. Her face was flushed, her capillaries expanding and carrying her blood to the surface of her skin, though she did not exhibit other signs of illness. Approaching my desk, she held the flowers out, one hand cradling a small pot that looked hand-painted, covered in the colorful whirls unique to her art. The other hand bent, effortlessly gentle, around the few miniature sunflowers poking out of the pot’s soil like they were something she needed to protect, though she did not look at them. Instead, her eyes were locked on me, bright and unwavering.
“Jokia Angevine,” I said, redirecting a portion of my attention to researching signs of human illness. “Are you alright? Why have you brought me a plant?”
She snorted, bringing one hand to cover her mouth while the other placed her plant down in front of me. Was she ashamed of the sound? I found it rather unique, among humans. It would be fascinating to catalogue the noises of her amusement. “No, no.” Jokia waved a hand flippantly, the excess blood starting to drain from her face. “I’m not sick, don’t worry. I’m fine.”
Don't Mind the Rain
Grace J. Drew
The University of Texas at Austin
Science Fiction
Days, maybe weeks ago, I woke up to the sun shining through the wavy glass windows of my house. After stumbling to the kitchen, I opened the packed cupboard; mugs with college logos balanced on mugs adorned with cartoon animals crammed next to mugs with cheerful sayings. My fingers landed on one reading ‘there’s no place like home.’
I drove to work, unaware of how soon I would be returning. Unaware that the sun rose that morning to be deceiving. Unaware that rain laced with acid was building in the clouds. Unaware that I was utterly unprepared for the storm that would soon erupt.
August 5th, 2021
Kat Reagan
The University of Iowa
Science Fiction
You are driving over an endless sea of tan rocks and burnt umber
ground. The treads of your wheels stir ancient dust up into swirling
clouds behind you, accenting the dirt tracks you leave everywhere
you roam. Every so often you raise your camera arm, dutifully
rotating the device in a slow, graceful circle to take pictures of the
landscape for your family to puzzle together down in the lab where
you were born.
Acknowledgements
We’d like to thank our publisher Danny Khalastchi, the Magid Center, the English Department, and the University of Iowa Student Government for all their generous support. Without them, Wilder Things Magazine would not be possible.
Wilder Things Magazine is a semesterly publication dedicated to uplifting speculative literature in academic settings. It centers itself around combating elitism in academic literary canon and publishes intercollegiate work from around the world.
All pieces were subject to a fair, anonymous reading process. Every staff member was given ample time and space to speak on each piece. Measures were taken to address elitism within our literary tastes, and pieces were curated not on academic craft standards or the concept of "merit," but on their subject, message, and overall ability to remind us why we love words in the first place.
Cover design by Hayden Williams. Website design by Lydia Hecker.
Want to get more involved with Wilder Things? Follow us on Instagram and Twitter @wilderthingsmag!
Contributor Bios
Mysty Anthony studies creative writing at the University of Miami. When she isn’t writing about magic swords and ghosts, she’s probably hanging out with friends and spending too much money on dinner.
Abbie Christelow is a third year Creative Writing student at the University of Winchester. When she isn’t crocheting or playing Dungeons and Dragons with her friends, she can be found reading or getting lost in whatever random thing has caught her attention this time.
Finch Davis is a second-year English & Creative Writing student at the University of Iowa pursuing a career as a military officer and a good recipe for a chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake. He writes short stories when he’s not working on writing his novel, even though he likes to tell himself that he is never not working on writing his novel. That’s obviously false, but he doesn’t let that get him down.
Grace J. Drew is a Biology and Creative Writing student at The University of Texas at Austin. She intends to pursue a medical degree and plans to advocate for medical equity through storytelling. When not studying or writing, Grace enjoys reading (her favorite author is Margaret Atwood) and listening to The Beatles.
Josephine Geiger-Lee is a first-year student at the University of Iowa studying English and Creative Writing. She can be found crying over TV shows or creating a Shakespearean Cinematic Universe.
Eva Hagavik is a first-year international student at University of Winchester. When she’s not writing, she is either playing videogames or obsessing over crystals. She’s a big fan of chocolate-covered pretzels and takes her writing inspiration from her favorite tv-shows and books. She is also a proud member of the LGBTQ+ community.
Naadia A. Hussein is a final year English and Creative Writing student at the University of Birmingham. When she's not working on assignments, Naadia enjoys reading fantasy novels and watching a range of TV shows - from anime like Fruits Basket to Netflix's Black Mirror (which sometimes scares her half to death). Her interests inspire her writing and encourage her to be a better person.
Victoria Kerrigan is a writer from Brooklyn, NY. She has been awarded a Scholastic Gold Key in Poetry and has work forthcoming in No Tokens. She attends Kenyon College where she works for The Kenyon Review and is an editor for Sunset Press. Other than writing, she plays ultimate frisbee and likes the way her cowboy boots sound on the hardwood floor.
Kali Melone is a fourth-year creative writing student at Emerson College. Their work has appeared regularly in the margins of math tests, science quizzes, and once on the back of a CVS receipt.
​
Sakina Qazi is a junior at the University of Miami, where she is studying biochemistry and English literature. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Amethyst Review and Neologism Poetry Journal.
Annie Radin is in the Class of 2024 at Johns Hopkins University. She majors in Writing Seminars and has a Film and Media Studies minor. She loves poetry and screenwriting, as well as collecting seashells. She is looking forward to diving deeper into speculative writing as she continues her education.
Kat Reagan is a second-year student at the University of Iowa studying English and Creative Writing. When she’s not playing D&D, she enjoys baking bread, taking care of her plants, and thinking about space.
Abigail Russell is a second-year student at Johns Hopkins University. Outside of class, Abigail enjoys learning new recipes or having a movie night with her friends. She’s a huge fan of both fantasy and horror, and takes writing inspiration from both books she has read and people she has met.
Elizabeth Sloan is a first year student at the University of Iowa, double majoring in Creative Writing and Art. Some of Elizabeth’s favorite authors are Tamora Pierce, Mercedes Lackey, and Neil Gaiman. Someday, she hopes to be a published novelist, but until then, Elizabeth uses her cat as a pillow, she loves the fashion of 1890-1920, and she has a headless teddy bear named “Ted.”
Caitlin Smith is a first-year student at Winchester University. When she is not working on essays or writing, Caitlin enjoys reading works of all genres and forms, watching horror films, and creating unique pieces of artwork. She is a big fan of thrilling horror stories and gets a lot of her writing inspiration from songs or dreams she has had.
Erica Stover is a sophomore student at Johns Hopkins University studying chemistry and the writing seminars. In her free time, she enjoys reading speculative fiction and hanging out with her friends and her dog. She spends arguably too much time thinking about superheroes and considers long showers to be an essential part of her writing process.
Alyvia Weigel is a second-year student at the University of Iowa studying English and creative writing, with a publishing track. In her free time, she enjoys reading, writing, and playing her Nintendo Switch. Her favorite book is Vicious by V.E. Schwab, which she draws much of her inspiration from.
Jessie Wu is a second-year student at the University of Toronto. When she's not working, she's either playing Genshin or sketching. She loves YA fiction and draws inspiration from lo-fi hip hop beats.
milo is a student at the University of Iowa studying English and creative writing. She enjoys being in nature and writing. She will occasionally even write about nature.