Liars' League

Our next event: HOPES & FEARS, Tuesday 13th December

Hopes! Fears! Gifts! Parties! Joy! Panic! Love! Despair!

As usual, the festive season is a positive rollercoaster of emotions and our Hopes & Fears Christmas event is going to give you one hell of a ride. We've stuffed our stocking with Hollywood noir, skull-stealing students, escapologist turkeys, cats up chimneys and quietly tragic YouTube instructional videos. And to top it off, we'll have a super bumper festive book quiz and FREE mince pies - all for a fiver!

WINNING STORIES for HOPES & FEARS

Dear Puss by Donna Tracy *new author*

Trimmings by Mark Barlex 
How to Build your Dreamhouse by Rhys Timson 
A Cranium for Christmas by E. P. Henderson 
Tinseltown by Niall Boyce 

plus one more story TBC 

As for our literature-loving audience, we look forward to welcoming you to the Phoenix, Cavendish Square, W1 on Tuesday December 13th. Tickets are just £5 - full details below. We DO now accept card payments on the door but (especially for this Christmas event) it's well worth booking a ticket via Paypal in advance to ensure you get a table. And if you're an author or actor who has written or performed for us in 2022, there will be a free drink or two for you behind the bar ... bonus!

HOPES & FEARS: CHRISTMAS STORIES

Tuesday 13th December, 7.30pm (doors open at 6.30pm)
The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

Tickets are £5: to book, please click here. Questions? See below.

Hopes! Fears! Gifts! Parties! Joy! Panic! Love! Despair!

As usual, the festive season is a positive rollercoaster of emotions and our Hopes & Fears Christmas event is going to give you one hell of a ride. We've stuffed our stocking with Hollywood noir, skull-stealing students, escapologist turkeys, cats up chimneys and quietly tragic YouTube instructional videos. And to top it off, we'll have a super bumper festive book quiz and FREE mince pies - all for a fiver!

WINNING STORIES for HOPES & FEARS

Dear Puss by Donna Tracy *new author*

Trimmings by Mark Barlex 
How to Build your Dreamhouse by Rhys Timson 
A Cranium for Christmas by E. P. Henderson 
Tinseltown by Niall Boyce 

plus one more story TBC 

As for our literature-loving audience, we look forward to welcoming you to the Phoenix, Cavendish Square, W1 on Tuesday December 13th. Tickets are just £5 - full details below. We DO now accept card payments on the door but (especially for this Christmas event) it's well worth booking a ticket via Paypal in advance to ensure you get a table. And if you're an author or actor who has written or performed for us in 2022, there will be a free drink or two for you behind the bar ... bonus!

HOPES & FEARS: CHRISTMAS STORIES

Tuesday 13th December, 7.30pm (doors open at 6.30pm)
The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

Tickets are £5: to book, please click here. Questions? See below.

HOPES & FEARS: CHRISTMAS STORIES

Tuesday 13th December, 7.30pm (doors open at 6.30pm)
The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

Tickets are £5: to book, please click here. Questions? See below.

Convivial by Rebekah Lattin-Rawstrone

Read by Caroline O'Mahoney (fourth story in podcast, here)

Her heart is in the middle of the dining table next to the potatoes. It is pumping away against the tabletop. No one seems to notice. The white tablecloth is beginning to stain; a ring of yellow plasma is seeping beneath the tableware, the central red mark deepening into a dark, sticky burgundy that resembles port-wine gravy.

The thudding pumps have a cloying sound that marks the passing of beat to beat, moment to moment, keeping her silent.

Her husband’s family are catching up, ignoring, not seeing the heart. They began drinking when she was putting the children to bed. They are no longer sober.

One Last Hurrah by Madison McSweeney

Read by Silas Hawkins (fifth story in podcast, here)

Grave robbing, I’ll confess to. Murder and battery, I will not. I’m no killer, and there is no law on the books that condemns a man to the gallows for assaulting someone who is already dead.

I could say I did what I did for science, but I won’t insult you. I did what I did out of greed. Your Honour, you’re no stranger to me; you know that I came from a good family, and that I disgraced them through vice and gambling. You may be tempted to view this as further evidence of my character, but I would implore you to have some pity. I believed at the time that this was a victimless crime. We all know the city of Kingston has no shortage of corpses whom none would miss, buried shallowly, all wanting for some productive purpose.

Skulduggery by Maria Kyle

Read by Stephen Butterton (third story in podcast, here)

The pirates are thirteen days out of Port Royal, having drunk themselves liquid and swived themselves black-eyed on the last merchantman’s bullion, the dawn they sight the derelict. It's the first vessel in doldrum-drifting weeks. But the tropic sun’s a flaring torch, half-quenched in the horizon, by the time the Siren draws near. The stranger ship’s silhouette against the red-gashed sky is still as a gibbeted corpse.

The crew’s restless and underfed; dogs too-long chained. Captain Vittery prays for bounty, leaving First Mate Pereira aboard to keep order: he’d trust Pereira, a grizzled Portugee, with his life or death, whichever came uppermost.

The boarding-party rows over in the jolly-boat. Ten feet off, Vittery calls halt: high on her starboard flank is her faded name: Day Dreamer. An odd, whimsical appellation, smacking more of a pleasure-craft than a three-masted schooner. He’s brought Bartolo, the hulking Second Mate, redheaded Logan the bosun, Ashoy the Lascar and gruff Svensson: his best men by a league. Mickey the cabin-boy comes too, for luck. Wanted to show the colour of his courage.

Kaleidoscope Girl by Sarah Richardson

Read by Lucy Mabbitt (first story in podcast, here)

The first time she saw the girl, Jen was floating on her back, gazing at the Fowey shore through the frame of her feet. The days had reached that point in September where the late afternoon light was so low it splashed against the swell, sending tiny golden flecks spinning across the water. The ferry that carried passengers the short trip from the town’s tourist-packed streets to the opposite harbour — the sparse two-pub, one-shop hamlet of Polruan — had dropped back to six an hour. Before long it would be winter service.

Jen felt the water under her lift, flatten, lift again. The sun’s warmth washed against her face, easing the swell’s chill. She liked watching the light graze the sea, shooting off in all directions. Out here, in the middle of the little channel, she was at the centre of a kaleidoscope; the pattern around her constantly shifting, obscuring her from anyone’s view.

Pirate Meat by Ken Towl

Read by Andrew Baguley (second story in podcast, here)

How times have changed. The sine qua non of the enjoyable social occasion for many people used to be cocaine. However, now that cocaine is readily available in Asda with some health warning that no one reads along the lines of “serious risk of turning you into a twat”, it’s no longer fashionable. I suppose they needed tax revenue from somewhere to pay for all that borrowing during the early twenties.

And don’t get me started on the Animal Rights Act. I hesitate to use the hackneyed term “political correctness gone mad” but if it ever had any meaning that time is now. We are one step away from giving dolphins the vote and armadillos a passport. It is militant veganism gone mad. Every sentient thing has rights. The consequence being that, while nobody says it these days – we are all so keen not to offend - a dinner party is hardly worth going to.

Widespread and Unnecessary Unrest on the Astral Plane by Mark Barlex

Read by Keleigh Wolf (final story in podcast, here)

“What’s with the ghouls?” you want to know. “Why so fucking rude all of a sudden?”

Oh no, Derek. Were you blanked in the corridor? Did they stop talking when you walked into the canteen? If you must know, they’re annoyed because you cut their pay and benefits. And frustrated because you just did it, ignoring pre-agreed commitments to discuss significant changes in working conditions. They probably think you’re the one who’s being rude.

“They should talk to the wraiths,” you say. “They seem happy enough.”

Hey, Derek, maybe talk to the wraiths yourself. They’re pretty fucked off too.

Next event: SKULL & CROSSBONES for Hallowe'en, Tue 11th October

Avast! We've a scurvy sackful of swashbuckling stories for you this month, to chill your blood and shiver your timbers in time for Hallowe'en. There's sea-swept ghosts, grave-robbing, meat-smuggling, heart-eating, demonic middle-management, skulls, bones, vampires, zombies and of course PIRATES!

We look forward to welcoming you aboard the good ship Phoenix on Tuesday October 11th. Tickets are just £5 - full details below. (Apologies but we cannot accept pieces of eight, doubloons or gold bullion as payment).  

WINNING STORIES FOR SKULL & CROSSBONES

 

Pirate Meat by Ken Towl, read by Andrew Baguley

Skulduggery by Maria Kyle, read by Stephen Butterton

Kaleidoscope Girl by Sarah Richardson, read by Lucy Mabbitt
Convivial by Rebekah Lattin-Rawstrone, read by Caroline O'Mahoney
One Last Hurrah by Madison McSweeney, read by Silas Hawkins
Widespread and Unnecessary Unrest on the Astral Plane by Mark Barlex, read by Keleigh Wolf

 

Tuesday 11th October, 7.30pm (doors open at 6.30pm)
The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

Tickets are £5: to book, please click here. Questions? See below.

Tuesday 11th October, 7.30pm (doors open at 6.30pm)
The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

Tickets are £5: to book, please click here. Questions? See below.

Medusa Takes a Bath, and Becomes a Monster by Mina Ma

Pssst ... love live lit? Come to our Hallowe'en event SKULL & CROSSBONES on Tuesday 11th October!
Better yet, submit your own on-theme story to us (guidelines here) by Sunday 4th September. 

This story is read by Grace Cookey-Gam - podcast here (fourth story)

Medusa slips into the sultry water, and the snakes sway and hiss about her head. Perhaps they move in pleasure, or revulsion, or annoyance; she’s not sure, she doesn’t understand them yet, these new slithering appendages of hers.

She tries to forget. Relax. Be tranquil.

But out of the corners of her eyes, scales, like green teardrops, pulsate. Black horizontal slits, situated on bulging metallic globes, fix and stare. Forked tongues, pink and unsated, dip into the water, and sip.

A Profile Shot of the Country by Rebecca Lee

Read by Lois Tucker - podcast here (first story)

On the edge of an island just off mainland Honduras, there is a shoulder-height tripod with a phone at the end. It is a selfie stick. A woman on the shore is posing.

She is wearing a thick-thonged bikini bottom the same bile-yellow as a chicken snake. Her top is two triangles and a string. As the woman reaches up to grab a plantain, she turns to her selfie stick and smiles.

The only other person on the beach is Anne. She, too, is slicked in tanning oil, but would never take pictures of herself in public. Neither she, nor the thick-thonged bikini woman will swim at this beach. Slimy water grass runs rampant near the shore.

Lifendelich of the Loch by Jennifer Gaboury

Read by Carrie Cohen - podcast here (second story)

The elderly sisters Pitt went missing shortly after the loose woman, Ramona Rothchild - known adulteress before she was widowed, and doomsday-bringer to many a philanderer - vanished into the woods and was sure to never be seen again. The wives and clergy rejoiced; the men with wandering hearts performed a perfunctory search of the surrounding hinters as penance. But they would not penetrate the deepest forest for fear of what had long lurked there, slumbering undisturbed until now.

Hunger must have woken it, or else it was Ramona who roused the beast with her wiles and met her rightful end. The Misses Pitt were well past their primes and might have fallen on the path that circled the wood. From there, the beast could have snatched them up unseen and dragged them into its den. Another cursory search was performed, with no intention of treading perilous ground. The gentle ladies had long since lost their bloom, and so the loss of them was hardly felt. They had never been mothers, and so it was the consensus of the village that two lives had already been wasted; there was nothing more to be done.

Up Yours Gravity by Charlotte Turnbull

Read by Claire Lacey - podcast here (third story)

It started with only one mum. She was all sweaty and couldn’t breathe because she was swinging so hard, but she really yelled up yours gravity. Then, all our mums got up from the benches. They pulled their children off the swings and tied their coats round their waists and started swinging as hard as they could.

There are four normal swings and two of the mums stood on their feet in the baby swings. The frame really, really wobbled. There was also a mum on the tortoise bouncer but she didn’t seem to mind.

The Keepsake by Renée Agatep

Read by Orchid Ayers. Full podcast here (final story)

My mother died in an unseasonably warm Ohio winter. There was no snow on the winding county byways, and the newly finished tar of the road to the cemetery was dry as bone. The day after the funeral, Christoff and I began to pack up the contents of her house. No one had lived there in some time.

“I don’t remember this one,” I said aloud, my eye catching an unfamiliar face in the kitchen. 

“There are a hundred magnets on that fridge. You couldn’t possibly remember all of them.”

Women & Girls, Tuesday 9th August

Our sixth annual ladies' night, where all stories are written and read by women, was a WOW! (Mslexia even tweeted about it ...) We had flying mums, snake-haired temptresses, content-mill drones, horror from the loch, and an (after)life lived through refrigerator magnets, all performed live on Tuesday 9th August at The Phoenix, near Oxford Circus, W1. Here's the YouTube playlist: more soon!

WOMEN & GIRLS WINNING STORIES

A Profile Shot of the Country by Rebecca Lee, read by Lois Tucker
Up Yours Gravity by Charlotte Turnbull, read by Claire Lacey
The Keepsake by Renee Agatep, read by Orchid Ayers
Lifendelich of the Loch by Jennifer Gaboury, read by Carrie Cohen
Medusa Takes a Bath and Becomes a Monster by Mina Ma, read by Grace Cookey-Gam

Tuesday 9th August, 7.30pm (doors open at 6.30)
The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

Tickets are £5: to book, please click here. Questions? See below.

Worldly Goods by Cheryl Powell

Read by Tony Bell - podcast here (third story)

He was eager. Not like the others. There was swagger in him still; a soul revelling in the memory of his own body.

‘Well, here I am.’ He grinned, eyes full of nervous brilliance, and spat out a coin. I let him saunter towards the coracle, hands in pockets, as if about to embark on a pleasure cruise. I’d seen bravado like this before, of course, but it never lasted.

Here, at the threshold, there is a blood-red sky, and the souls turn their faces, craving warmth. This soul was different, though. ‘Always look forward,’ he breezed. ‘Never back.’

Then he jumped the queue.

Holiday Wardrobe by James Burt

Read by Jennifer Aries - podcast here (final story)

Even in a magic kingdom, pizza tasted the same as anywhere else. Maybe it was intentional – if something was bland then no-one would send it back saying they didn’t like it. Maybe that was the reason this fast-food place looked like any such place: the same bright lighting, the same plastic chairs, the same bored look on the staff’s faces. Same tasteless food. He reached for the menu, wondering if there was anything more interesting that he should have ordered.

“Paul? I’m talking?”

“Sorry, love.”

To Saad Zaghloul Square (by the sea) by Guy Howie

Read by Stephen Butterton - podcast here (first story)

The sun feels still now, like it has stopped rising and settled into the position where it can do most damage. Its heat is relentless, melting any breeze the sea has to offer our backs. My neck is raw, and Anwar’s enlarged forehead gleams like polished metal, the shine blurring his wrinkles.

Six lanes of fast-moving traffic are raising their fanfare in front of us. Each honk produces three more in response. Yellow and black Lada taxis revving their dying breaths in third gear scold the Uber drivers racing them to San Stefano Mall in their freshly imported Emgrands. The bells of four identical white microbuses occupying various lanes (some more than one at the same time) chime in unison.

Billy and Gerry by Will Mann

Read by Jeremiah O'Connor - podcast here (4th story)

He’s waiting for me when I come out of the hotel, stood in front of his black cab. Leaner than I remember, face a little more lined, hair now a gunmetal grey.

I thought he might be wearing one of those khaki field jackets – that unofficial uniform they all seemed to favour – but he’s wearing a neutral beige zip up and light grey slacks.

“Are you Gerry?” I ask him. “From Gerry’s Famous Belfast Taxi Tours?’

If he recognises me, he doesn’t show it.

“That’s me. Are you Billy?”

On the Corpse Way by Dan Hinge

Read by Lin Sagovsky - podcast here (2nd story)

The coffin stone was not far now, and George Walker hurried forward as best he could through the chaos of snow, stumbling over the rocks, gasping at the pain in his shoulders. He was stiff with the weight of his burden, chilled by the wind, panting with exertion. Near the resting place was a cleft in the mountain, just big enough for a man to shelter, if desperate enough.

Minutes later, George made it to the stone. Full of relief, he tilted his back to roll the body onto the wide, flat surface.

But the jolting of the journey had loosened the wrappings around the corpse. As George dropped the weight onto the slab, a pale hand lolled free and brushed the bare earth.

The Land the World Forgot by Ibar Murphy

Read by Katy Darby - podcast here (5th story)

In Search of Guatelumbia: An Open Appeal to the Global Academic Community

The European colonisation of the Americas is a story riddled with wonder and tragedy. The dark interiors of the New World have long withheld secrets, with rumours of ancient civilisations and great treasures enrapturing adventurous souls from across the ocean.  However in this modern age perhaps the most curious mystery remaining is the case, not of a lost city, but rather an entire country that has eluded the sweeping march of discovery.

Dragon Blood, Pig Heart by Junyi Chew

Dragon Blood Pig Heart MP3 

Read by Rebecca Yeo

“I’ve ordered char siu pao,” Mum said. “Your favourite.”

We were sat at a table upstairs in a busy restaurant in London’s Chinatown. The ‘pao’ she'd ordered were white steamed buns with a filling of pork in salty-sweet red sauce. They were a food from my childhood, when I would eagerly devour the fluffy outsides to get to the treasure within, at some point reaching the perfect ratio of meat to dough. I hadn’t stopped then to consider possible spellings of the word, which could shapeshift all three letters, sliding from pau to pao to bao. For me, the buns would arrive with a ‘POW!’ like a hearty blow in a Batman comic.