(Published on https://www.theweirdandwhatnot.com & https://www.teleportmagazine.com/2019/11/10/the-audit/

Now an audio story on Talltaletv.com! https://youtu.be/6WicFTu-n1s)

It was a calm, cloudy morning in the misty Catskill Mountains. Clouds floated lazily through the towering rocky mountains and grassy hills that poked out of them. Driving through one of these clouds on the mountain road was a red Volkswagen. Around and around, the red bug drove on winding roads and sharp turns that would induce nausea and dizziness in even the steadiest of drivers.

Eventually, and after some very careful maneuvering, the Volkswagen conquered the dizzying roads and reached the top of the mountain. Behind the…

I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s not like I’m handy or anything. Hell, I could barely assemble a couch! Still, maybe it was my desire to fulfill my late grandfather’s request or I just wanted to take my mind off Gina leaving but this time was different. This time, the finished product looked just like the picture in the blueprints.

Standing in front of me in my basement is a door frame. A very weird, impractical-looking door frame.

I’ve triple-checked the instructions, carefully studied every last minor detail, and repeatedly confirmed that every wire, electrode, and screw is…

I was sweeping the inn when the stranger stumbled in through the door. Bleary-eyed and dazed, he was clearly coming off a long night drinking. With the fear of God on his face, the man looked at me. Against my better judgement I asked him if he was all right and in a shaking voice, he told me his story.

Last evening he had been walking alone in the valley as dusk began to settle.

Weary from his travels and still far from shelter, he knew he had better hurry through the mountainous paths if he were to have any…


You’re speeding down the highway late one night. Music blasting on the radio, a half-empty energy drink in the cup-holder and somehow you’re still tired. There aren’t any other cars on the road this time of night, no harm in going just a bit over the speed limit.

The soothing female voice of your GPS tells you the exit you’ve been driving towards is just up ahead. Sure enough, you see the green sign for your exit coming up on the right. Taking your foot off the gas, you click your blinker on and begin to make the turn.

(This may be my most nonsensical story yet. You’ve been warned.)

In a large crooked shack in the heart of a dark forest, there lived a Wizard and his two assistants. The Wizard was an old man with a long white beard wrapped in a filthy dark cloak patterned with moons and stars.

While immensely powerful, any onlooker could tell that the old man was also not right in the head. The Wizard could raise mountains in the distance with a wave of his hand but somehow struggled to dress himself in the morning.

“By the hungry hosts of Azathoth…


(Now an audio story narrated by Chris Herron of Talltaletv.com!

https://youtu.be/qu_fwUeNqKY )


The rumbling, heavy truck swerved on the interstate. It was a large sixteen-wheeler with a tight, blue tarp. Under the tarp were dozens of yellow barrels with the words EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS and TOXIC printed beneath radiation symbols, accompanied by a skull and crossbones.

At the wheel of the truck was middle-aged truck driver Edgar Brown. Hungry and desperately needing to take a piss, Edgar had been driving for over eight hours now. He was supposed to drop these barrels off at some big-shot science building at…

By Pat O’Malley


He knew he was dead the moment he saw her.

His name was Mark Thompson, a Professor of Literature at Brubaker University, Rhode Island. Charming and good at his job, Mark was well-liked by students and admired by colleagues. At almost forty years old, he worked hard to stay in relatively good shape. He had a chestnut brown beard and dark glasses that he usually wore with a long-sleeved plaid shirt and jeans.

Over the semesters, it wasn’t uncommon for one or two of his female students to slip him their cell number.

While tempting, Mark…

It was close to midnight. The full moon was obscured by clouds and yet a sliver of moonlight shined down on Armitage Cemetery. The graveyard was constructed on a vast plot of land that was surrounded by curvy hills and a black pitchfork gate that served as the entrance. Richie O’Neill was surrounded by tombstones, the typical and unimaginative half-oval shaped ones and the super fancy tombstones with statues of angels that were made when rich people died. The creepy sound of owls hooting echoed in the darkness. The bright colors of Autumn were hidden away in shadow. …

(Now published on horla.org!)

It wasn’t that he was especially afraid of heights or falling. He thought that getting older or the world ending from politicians and pandemics was much scarier than his fear of heights. No, he had only been obsessing over falling because of the dreams.

Those God-damned dreams.

He was in his mid-thirtie with a tall, skinny (if a little pale) build and dark hair. He saw himself as an unassuming person, not the kind you would expect to be plagued by nightmares. For almost two weeks now he had been having the same awful dream.



Tumbleweeds blew past rows of tall, prickly cacti blooming with pink flowers. The frozen cacti stood indifferently as a white horse and a young man rode past them, galloping through the arid prairie. Amber colored mountains framed the horizon while beneath the wide, blue sky, hooves crushed the dry, cracked dirt as the rider held his mailbag tightly. One step closer to Maplewood, the town that awaited them. The weight of the heavy leather mailbag bounced against the rider with each gallop but he did his best to ignore it.

The rider’s name was Brady Calhoun; a clean-shaven young…

Pat O’Malley

I like to write. A lot. Lmk what you think. Enjoy!

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