Where the Wild Things Are (The Truth)

Where the Wild Things Are

The true story

This is based off one of my favorite books Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. It's one I now know by heart, and I adore reading it to my own daughter. But I thought It would be fun to make it everything it was never meant to be, while still attempting to keep the tone of a childrens story.

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         Silence hung heavy in the smallish home. It was a small home really, the small kitchen sat dutifully off the small living space, which doubled as both the small family area, and that area that more well-off people called the foyer. Max sat at the small square table that took up nearly all the space, his feet dangling, tapping against the wooden table leg. He reached up with a child’s fingers and scratched his dark head, pulling the hood of his wolf suit tighter over his curls. He loved the thing. It was his pride and joy, the only thing his aunt Susan had given him that he actually wanted to keep. It was, in truth a bit tattered now, the white fleece material worn in places, the fibers matted together, and more itchy now than warm, and the pant legs dangled a few inches above his ankles. He slipped from the stool now, dragging his favorite teddy behind him as he made his way into the living room where his mother sat slumped over the arm of their only sofa, a dingy two-seater they had found in a yard sale. Its cushions weren’t so soft anymore, the yellow not so bright, and his mother, once vibrant, once fresh and young, was not so much or either thing anymore. She was as a rag thrown carelessly over the rim of a bucket filled with dirty water, useful for a moment, used up, then discarded, left dirty and stained. He felt so many things for his mother, love , hate, pity. Pity. He leaned over her sleeping form, coming close to her ear, the pungent aroma of whatever liquor she’d consumed wafted up from her very pores. Max came so close his lips nearly touched her ear full of wax.

         “I will eat, you up,” he whispered the words, soft, words. She stirred lifting her heavy head, her blood shot green eyes meeting his, focused, then not. She nodded her head jerking up and down. A sneer twisted her thin lips before they parted.


         “Go to your room Max, mommy’s busy.” Her words were slurred, tumbling from lips robbed of their finesse by drink. Max stared at his mother, his eyes locked on her face. She was ugly, no longer young and beautiful, her skin was sallow, make up caked in the cracks and wrinkles that the years had etched there, the sorrow. Dark streaks ran from both her eyes where her makeup had failed to live up to it’s promise of all-day wear. Max felt his hand tighten around the flimsy arm of his teddy as he turned, and started up the narrow set of stairs to his room.


         Inside he slammed the door loud enough that he knew she would rise again. Behind the dusty material of his wolf suit his stomach growled in protest to not being fed. Of course. Max leaned against the unforgiving wood of his bedroom door, the oak was smooth, solid and stable. He let his eyes close slowly. Max liked being in his room. It was small, and simple like the rest of the house, with nothing but a small night table, and single bed, but it was his. His sanctuary. Nothing ever touched him there.


         Max moved away from the door, and began to pace the room. There were times when he questioned life. Why him, why this place? Why this life? It wasn’t fair, so many other children he knew lived lives right out of the books. Perfect families, perfect mothers who always cooked perfect meals, with perfect hair and skin, with all the love in the world to give. Why not him too? Max kicked at the rug, rage filling him till his body shook. He cried out, driving his fist into the stark white wall.

          The house seemed to vibrate under the force of his blow, and a neat hole stared back at him where his fist had broken through the drywall. Max stood, mouth agape as a slender green vine crept slowly, silently from the hole, sprouting new shoots as it moved its way over the white painted walls, which crumbled softly falling to the ground, now green with grass. An ear splitting crash echoed into the night as his world seemed to fall away, and massive trees rose up before him, their trunks wide and straight, rising up through the roof which then vanished, exposing the sky, clear and inky black, be speckled with crystalline jewels. The moon shone brightly playing hide and seek with the thin clouds skirting over her pock marked surface. Max glanced around, his eyes taking in his new surroundings. His heart skipped beats, palpitating wildly beyond his ribs, as a salty breeze rose, caressing his skin, refreshing in the unbearable heat that seemed to radiate from the very grass on which he stood. Max brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed vigorously. Surely this … forest, had not come from his wall, surely not. And yet, he could not deny what his eyes were taking in. Indeed there was a forest, but his room was nowhere to be seen, not a wall, not the ceiling and certainly not his single bed and small bedside table.


         This was a world unlike any he’d ever seen. From the ground, exotic, and wild flowers sprouted from the bases of trees, throwing their perfumes to the wind. The leaves falling to the ground were all colors of the rainbow, beautiful red hues, and yellow, orange, like the fire’s flame, and green. Max knelt, lifting one of the massive leaves in his gloved hand, his eyes wide with a child’s wonder. Where was he? For he was no longer in the city, that much was true. He took one tentative step forward, and then another, turning in slow circles, the bushy tail of his wolf suit rustling in the fallen leaves and grass.


         He could stay here forever, a wide smile broke across Max’s dirt streaked face, and he threw his head back howling at the heavy moon. He flung his arms wide, and spun around, growling at the wind, laughing like the child he was. He ran around the trees screaming to the night s ky, happy for the first time in years. As he leapt, and spun, roaring carefree, and wonderfully alone, another sound pressed its way into his mind. A gentle murmur, and gurgling, water. Max’s ear pricked suddenly aware, and he began to follow the sound, his fingers, inside their gloves, gliding along the trunks of the trees as he went. The sound got closer, and closer until he came upon its source.



         At the edge of the wood, an ocean met the land. Even in the deep dark, the lapis lazuli waves shuddered forward and back, caressing the earth and his bared feet, the water shimmered as if lit by a thousand tiny fish. Max’s grin widened, the ocean seemed to stretch on for miles, and miles, on to where the waves kissed the dark horizon in the distance. Lines of foam formed on the crests of the waves as they slipped softly shoreward. He sighed, his eyes taking in the scenery. To his right a small boat rocked against the shore, its bright red wood gleaming even in the darkness of the gathering night. A single white sail flapped in the wind, and seemed to beckon to him. Max glanced around, making his way over to the solitary transport. He climbed into the small boat, gasping when it started on its own moving away from the shore, the sail suddenly full of a breeze Max could not feel. He stood, his elbow resting on the curved wood, his chin on his palm. He did not know where he was being taken, he did not care. It was away from his mother, and that life he knew. Max allowed himself to think back to that life. His mother had not been that way all the time. It had only started that day they had come home from church. His father had stayed behind, but not alone. At the time Max had not been able to comprehend, he still wasn’t sure what had happened, who that other woman had been, but he did know it had ruined his mother, and his life. Max groaned, settling into the bottom of the boat, he lay down and closed his eyes, the sun was starting to rise, and the journey seemed like it would never end.

In and Out of weeks and Almost over a year later

         Max came awake with the jarring of the boat against solid ground, he rose, rubbing his eyes vigorously as he gazed around. The boat had come to a standstill on a shore eerily similar to the one he had left, but there was something different about this place. What it was Max did not know, but the trees here, leaned a bit more, the water was a little less blue, and the grass, although still green, grew just a little shorter. Max put one foot over the side of the boat and then another. Standing at the edge of the foreboding forest a feeling of dread formed a thick knot in his throat. Thick vines snaked their way to the ground, and in the distance some kind of animal moaned endlessly, the sound was comparable to a cats’ tortured cries when it’s tail was carelessly caught underfoot. Max started forward tentatively, the individual hairs of his neck standing at attention. His palms sweat within the gloves of his damp wolf suit, but he tried to keep a brave face.


         As he closed in on the line of dense forest, he recognized the feeling, the feeling of being watched. Not the normal feel you get when you know full well that someone is staring at you. It was the feeling you got when you weren’t sure you were right or if you were just crazy, the gaze was heavy and taunting, full of something Max could not name. Max backed slowly toward the boat, afraid to turn away from the suddenly rustling bushes. Suddenly from the dense wood a creature emerged. It towered over his small frame, its dark yellow eyes, sunk deep into it’s yellowed face, covered in tawny fur, it had the body of a lion, A single horn grew from the end of its elongated snout, and a row of tiny sharp teeth were visible past its quivering salivating lips.


         Max stopped his retreat, and stood face to face with the creature, aware of the two others that had come to join the first, each with their own look, animals crafted by some sick and twisted mind. Max met their gazes watching as they attempted to scare him away. Gnashing sharp teeth came within inches of his face, massive paws rose, swiping at the air, and horrible yellow tinted eyes rolled almost violently, but Max stood his ground, realizing they thought he too was a creature. He reached up and adjusted the hood of his wolf suit, and dropped down on all fours, growling and hissing.



         “Be still!” His yell reverberated over the twisted trees and swaying vines. The Wild things stopped their ruckus, and watched Max silently now. He stared into each of their eyes. Unblinking. The wind picked up burning his eyes, tears built up making his vision obscure, and still he stared. Overhead the sun fell and rose twice, and Max remained on that shore, unblinking taming the wild beasts before him. More arrived, and he charmed those too.


         “Who are you?” the first beast spoke suddenly, pulling Max from his concentration. “why are you here young beast?” The voice of the creature was so mighty, his breath was like a storm on the sea nearly blowing the hood of Max’s suit off.


         “You can talk?” the creatures exchanged puzzled looks closing in.
Another spoke, this time with the voice of a woman, she had the face of a bear, but her legs were long orange appendages with webbed feet. The legs of a duck? She spoke with stuttering hesitancy. “W-we can s-say m-many words.” She crept a little closer, her wet nose probing Max’s stomach and his damp wolf suit. “How, w-what was that trick you’ve just d-done?” Max grinned inwardly.


         “It, was magic!” He announced, raising his arms suddenly. The creatures cried out, their howls filling the night as the jumped back in unison. “I used magic to keep my eyes open. It only proves how much stronger I must be.” He spoke the words, convincing more than just the animals before him. He convinced himself. Their murmurs rose as they spoke amongst themselves. Max waited, his heart beating wildly. He knew they could still win this, they could still rip him to pieces, eat him alive!

         The monster who had spoken first turned back to him, coming closer than ever so that Max could smell his scent, like wild mushrooms, and old eggs. He resisted the urge to draw back, and lifted his chin in defiance. “You, are wilder than us all, there are none here who can, for days stand with eyes wide open as you have.” The others shuffled uneasily before dropping to their knees, bowing in reverence. Max felt his face light up, as they worshiped him as king of all wild things.

         Now, Max had never been worshiped as anything, or treated kindly for any reason, and this was far beyond anything he’d ever expected. Here in this world, he could be who he wanted, do what he wanted, and these… things, these wild things, would worship him for it. Max sat on the massive throne they had made for him out of the dead trunks of fallen trees, and watched the wild things as they partied in his honor. This was his wild rumpus. The intense and exotic scents wafting from the roaring fires tickled his nose and awakened his senses. All around him the wild things twirled, stomping their feet, roaring into the inky night sky. The noise was tremendous, shaking the small island, so that Max might have sworn his teeth rattled.


         He slipped off his throne and wove his way through the masses, avoiding the stomping feet, and towering fires. His eyes were wide as he took in the scene. On the outskirts of the celebration, just beyond where the light from the fires stopped, four wild things stood huddled around a much smaller inferno. Max crept closer, feeling his breath begin to quicken in his chest. Suspeneded over the glow, was a man. His arms tied behind his back, a long spear of wood, protruding from his gaping mouth stretched impossibly wide. Max stumbled back as he observed the flames licking at his charred skin, he watched as his flesh peeled, rolling back from his body like dried paint, falling with a muted hiss into the heat. A younger monster reached forth plucking a slice of flesh from the corpse. Max's mouth worked soundlessly, as he backed away. The face of his mother played in his mind as he scrambled back toward the thick forest. At his back the ruckus continued, the sound of the beating drums rising into the night as he crashed through the woods, back toward the rolling see.

          The monsters followed, the sound of their voices and growls beckoning to him, pleading with him not to go. Max pressed on. He had been wrong. All along thinking that life was better here, here in this place where he was worshiped, in this place where he never worried about his mother's anger or rage, or his father's absence... Max leapt over the side of the boat, turning back as he pushed away from the shore. The Wild Things were gathered there on the darkened shore, her teeth bared, their yellowed eyes shining, and rolling in massive heads. Max panted, throwing himself into the bottom of the boat, as it rocked back toward the real world.

          As the night brightened toward the dawn, a strong wind rose up, rocking the boat violently, Max collapsed in a small corner of the boat, curling in upon himself, calling into the raging winds for his mother. His mother was no longer beautiful, or young, she no longer had much love to give to anyone.

         His mother was the last person he had in the world. No one else. All at once longing rose in his throat, choking him, he wanted his mother. His mother with the sallow skin, and sunken eyes, with the wrinkles and the bottle that seemed as much a part of her as the greasy hair on her head. Max closed his eyes and sobbed above the den of the waves crashing against his small boat, he wished he were home...

In and Out of weeks and Almost over a year later

         Max blinked, his lashes drifting up, revealing the plain white drywall. A ceiling. He heart leapt, and for a moment he could not move. He dare not. He reached up slowly with trembling fingers and felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks, and that familiar soreness behind his eyes, though he could not remember any crying. slowly he rose up to his elbows, and glanced around the plain white room, with it's small bed, and night table. Through the single, narrow window the moonlight streamed, casting a pale glow over the stained carpet covering the floor. He was home. Down stairs, he could hear the broken rhythm of his mother stirring sauce in the pot... Or was that soup he smelled? He didn't know and with the constant ache in his belly he did not care. Max threw his legs over the side of the bed, and shuffled toward the door. The material of his wolf suit was was, in truth a bit tattered now, the white fleece material worn in places, the fibers matted together, and more itchy now than warm, and the pant legs dangled a few inches above his ankles. All these things were true. Max, reached, his fingers folding around the tight hood of his suit, pulling it back he ran his fingers through his dark curls. Slowly he captured the small zipper running along the belly and unzipped it. He stood in his room now, his thin legs peaking from beneath a pair of small shorts, his torso drapped in a stretched and wornn t-shirt. This was the new Max, the Max ready to face the world, Max who would no longer hide behind a childs fantasy of life.