Elijah B. Wilder is a formerly tall philosopher who likes writing fantasy, horror, and sci-fi (usually Queer and probably haunted) but mostly ends up writing stuff like this. Otherwise, he's wandering around cemeteries at the crack of dawn in search of mushrooms and answering awkward questions from concerned locals. Then he's asking the caffeine-deprived officer 'what he looks so grave for, ' and digging himself deeper until he awkwardly blurts out, "I'm conducting an ecological survey of residual arsenic from 19th-century burial sites!" which, while not wholly untrue, is also a lie, and this not-wholly-untrue lie lands him in a city planning meeting in a capacity he is in no way qualified for: professionally or spiritually. As you may have gathered, he's got a great deal of all-too-specific knowledge on Victorian death practices and mycology, and makes it everybody else's problem. His parents would like him to let you know that he has a Ph.D. in philosophy, but the truth is he spends very little time philosophizing, and way more time begging his dog to please, please just come inside, and trying to remember what the hell he came downstairs for anyway. If you know what the hell he came downstairs for, please find him on his website or Instagram or something and let him know.