Liars' League

Latest event: WOMEN & GIRLS, Tuesday 10th August at The Phoenix

"Who Run the World?" - Artwork by Nour Tohme 

 

Our 5th annual celebration of stories about and by Women & Girls was performed to a packed crowd on Tuesday 10th August at The Phoenix, with six slices of fantastic new fiction read aloud LIVE by our marvellous Liars' League actresses. It featured Mormons, murder, mediums, malicious moths, medieval maladies, Shakespeare & more - and the stories, videos and podcast are available to read, watch & listen to right now! 

WINNING STORIES for WOMEN & GIRLS

Plague of Exes, 1349 by Lauren Van Schaik, read by Gloria Sanders
Goddess Interrupted by Lyndsey Croal, read by Lois Tucker
How a Body likes her Breakfast by Cathy Browne, read by Kim Scopes
Oh Little Beast by Molly Skinner, read by Annalie Wilson
Vengeance by Mina Ma, read by Josie Charles
Lear in LA by Sakki Selznick, read by Sophie Cartman

Inspired to write for us?

NEXT DEADLINE: 11.59pm on Sunday 5th September for MAGIC & MAYHEM (event on Tuesday 12th October):

This Hallowe'en season, enchant (or curse) us with your most soul-searing stories of sorcery, necromancy, blood sacrifice, crazed rituals, inchoate horrors from a realm of unspeakable chaos ... you know the drill. 

Plague of Exes, 1349 by Lauren Van Schaik

Plague of Exes 1349 MP3

Read by Gloria Sanders

In the year of dark and bleeding armpits, every living man I ever dallied with got in touch.

As 1348 waned, I arrived under my father’s roof in a donkey-cart just as the mistletoe was strung and the autumn-fat hogs slaughtered. I was once again fortuitously widowed. Once again pretending to weep into my Christmas peacock over my departed husband and boogying a country-dance alone in my bower. Poor imbecile Roger, run through with a pitchfork.

Oh Little Beast by Molly Skinner

Oh Little Beast MP3

Read by Annalie Wilson 

The text of this story will shortly appear online at TheShortStory.co.uk. Watch this space!

 

Molly Skinner’s work has appeared in print on her mum’s fridge and in the body of emails entitled “could you proof this?” Formerly she co-managed the indie press Peirene Press. She has an MA in Art History from the Courtauld Institute of Art and this is her first published work.

 

Annalie Wilson is an actor, singer, songwriter and music producer. She has acted in theatre, musicals, film and TV, and particularly enjoys working with new writing. After a few years releasing music under her alter ego Luna Bec she has returned to her original name with her recent single “Coming Home,” which can be streamed in all the usual places. More at www.annalie.co.uk

How a Body Likes her Breakfast by Cathy Browne

Read by Kim Scopes

I am the body he shoves and kicks under the bushes so deep that the dogs scratch their noses on the thorns and the police have to use torches to find my pale hand curled in a claw among the brambles.

I am the body that makes all this fuss. Yellow tape and gloves and white jumpsuits. They don’t want to disturb me in case they spoil the evidence, but they can’t see any evidence whilst I am stuck under a bush either.

I am the body they hesitate to bury. I am searched inside and out and all over. They comb through every particle of me and they are not even looking for me at all, they are looking for him. Did he leave any of himself behind?

Vengeance by Mina Ma

Vengeance MP3

Read by Josie Charles

The two men appeared in the car park at six o’clock. The sun was beginning to set, glowing behind them like a warning, but they didn’t take heed.

At first, they were just faceless black shapes striding out of the orange blaze. One was taller and broader than the other. The shorter one swung his arms more. They walked side-by-side. Perhaps they were brothers, or friends, or lovers.

They came closer, and became clearer.

Goddess Interrupted by Lyndsey Croal

Read by Lois Tucker

Burning alive isn’t a fate I would wish upon anyone. Of all the ways I had died, it was the worst. Flames licked across skin that hadn’t seen the sunlight in three months. Smoke stung in my lungs like acid. And all the while faces that I’d come to call my friends and neighbours gawked on, delighting in the horror of such an act. It’s no wonder that eternal flames are used to torment dark souls in the underworld – at least the small mercy was that for me it didn’t last forever.

I was careless for getting caught, though I had only been trying to help the harvest, by bringing forth the rain and stilling the wind. Alas, in this period of history into which I was transplanted, I was not heralded as a deity to be worshipped or a nymph to be respected, but as a heretic and devil worshipper.

The Last Cat on Mars by Quintin Forrest

Read by Alex Woodhall

I don’t suppose anyone will ever read this.

I’m torn between hoping they do, because then the cat, Fripp, and I might yet be saved, and maybe even hailed as returning space heroes. And also hoping they don’t, because what would the

astronauts find? Tattered notes, turning to dust in the dry, red winds, and a couple of skeletons sat at the console, one in the chair, one on the keyboard, in however many years’ time. A half empty flask of home-brewed vodka, if we ever get our shit together, literally, to grow potatoes, and something on the wall about how Mars is a bad scene. Old blues tunes on the laptop. Selfies of us on a long-dead phone. Will Fripp and I be rescued before we lose it completely? I fear that ship may have already sailed.

Certain Promises, Certain Threats by Rhys Timson

Read by Oliver Yellop

You will think you are safe, when you see me. You will take in the white robes, the feathery wings and the halo, and you will think your troubles are over. Little will you know that your troubles will have only just begun.

By the time I arrive, you will have been there for a few days, in the lower place. Time has no meaning there, in Limbo, but it will feel like a few days to you. My associates will have visited you by then, made certain promises and certain threats. I will have told them not to touch you, but what I am not there to see, I cannot prevent.

Chaos Reigns by E.P. Henderson

Read by Gloria Sanders

In the Uber back from the final count, Ceri and Jack were speechless with shock and delight. Neither of them had managed a mayoral campaign before – nobody else would have taken a chance on them, honestly – and they’d done it. Their candidate had fucking won!

Jack tugged feverishly at his artisanal haircut. “Oh my God. Wow. This is … Christ!” He turned to Ceri, Manga-eyed. “You know what this means?!”

“Yeah!” yelped Ceri. “CV gold! We nailed it! And also I have to call my mum right now. She’s such a Tory.”

“It means Augaenysse controls everything,” said Jack slowly. “Transport. Education. Infrastructure.”

Ceri stopped, iPhone half-out of her original 90s puffa jacket. Augaenysse was a wicked boss, truly unique, but actually, you know, running London?

The Capture of Whitehall by David McGrath

Read by the author

Boris Johnson woke up in his underpants on the floor of Number Ten. Carrie had gone to her mother’s with the baby. She left a note to say they were done and she’d see him in court. That he was nothing but a selfish toad. His model bus was still in pieces all around him from where he had smashed it in rage the night before. Boris Johnson liked to make buses. He had this thing where he made models of buses. He would get old wooden crates and turn them into buses and paint passengers enjoying themselves on the wonderful bus. And now his bus was broken because he had broken it and what a terrible time over which to preside.

Mary had coffee for him. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘I dreamt I was dead.’

‘Have some coffee. I’ll get your trousers.’

Frozen by Todd Wells

Read by Sophie Cartman

David took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together, close to the heat of the fire. He looked across the flames at his wife, and wiped his nose. Molly was fishing in the bag for a marshmallow. Her hair flowed out of her lavender knit cap, framing her beautiful face. David waited until he thought she was looking at him, then wiped his nose again, more vigorously this time. They had met ten years ago, an anniversary they were celebrating with this camping trip, and though David now found her more attractive than ever, she still wasn't getting the hint.

David attacked the middle of his face with one last effort. He didn't want to disturb the ambience with verbal instructions, but he was out of options. Then, fate saved him in the form of a snowflake, which landed on the tip of Molly's nose. She smiled at the snowflake's tickle, and rubbed at her nose with the back of her glove, removing both the snowflake and the dried snot that had been the object of David's irritation. He relaxed.

Latest event: ORDER & CHAOS

NEXT EVENT: Tuesday August 10th - WOMEN & GIRLS: Our 5th annual celebration of stories about and by women & girls. N.B. For the avoidance of doubt, we are ONLY seeking submissions from female authors writing female protagonists for this theme. (Our usual male:female submission ratio is about 2:1 so this is our way of helping to redress the imbalance, in case you're curious ...)

 

To reserve tickets for the Women & Girls event, please see below for instructions on how to book and pay. Tickets are £5 per person, Maximum number of people at any one table is 6, but you can request adjacent tables when booking.

 

LATEST EVENT: ORDER & CHAOS (see below)

In the beginning, the earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep. And the spirit of live fiction moved over the face of the waters ... And then the Liars got all their votes in, and a new order was come! It was rich with naked hikers and chaos Empresses and cats on Mars, mighty with evil angels and model buses, and it was GOOD.

 

WINNING STORIES for ORDER & CHAOS

Chaos Reigns by E P Henderson, read by Gloria Sanders

Frozen by Todd Wells new author, read by Sophie Cartman

The Last Cat on Mars by Quintin Forrest, read by Al Woodhall

The Capture of Whitehall by David McGrath, read by the author

Certain Promises, Certain Threats by Rhys Timson, read by Oliver Yellop

 

Billy's Ghost Dug by Emma Grae

Read by Silas Hawkins

Lockdoon’s gettin tae me. Ma dug, Neville, took a turn fur the worst efter tannin a fit-lang tube o Jaffa cakes, and noo ah’m well and truly oan ma tod.

Neville wis the apple o ma eye. He wis a mongrel, who’d black fur dotted wi white patches that made the wee bugger look like he wis always wearin a suit. He wis a sleekit bastart, and treated me like wan big tit efter he left his mammy a few weeks too early. But fur aw his tricks and licks, Neville could dae nae wrang in ma eyes.

‘Alexa,’ ah say, ‘Pretend tae be a dug.’

He is Coming by Callum Jacobs

Read by Claire Louise Amias

He is coming.

The poster had appeared during the night. It had been pasted onto the front door of the town hall, not quite straight, as though it had been done in a hurry. It didn’t say anything else. There was no extraneous information, no address to contact for further details, no indication of who ‘He’ was.

Most people who saw the poster assumed it was referring to Jesus, and that this was Reverend Sweeny’s doing, the latest attempt to fill the dusty pews in the village church on Sunday morning when most people were still snoring in their beds. So most people ignored it.

It was only Miss Hazelwick who thought it might be something else. She thought it might be something else because she’d seen a sign. Just over a week before the poster appeared, Miss Hazelwick had been walking to the post office on her lunch break, to send a parcel to her sister, when she’d seen a fox running backwards.

Guru by Fiona Salter

Read by Paul Clarke

“Have you seen this?”  Canon Stephen is waving the Western Morning News.  “Harry Mount is planning a solstice vigil on Belstone Tor.”

“Remind me,” drawls the Archdeacon “Is this the one off Bake Off? Or the one who was in the Communards?” 

“Neither. This is the one joining with Druids for an EarthSong vigil.”

“The rise of the celebrity priest. I blame myself,” preens the Archdeacon. “I suppose he’ll say it’s ecumenical.”

“If it was with the Methodists, yes, with Druids, not so much.”

Heroes & Fools by Brian Kelly

Read by Jeremiah O'Connor

Never meet your heroes. That’s what they say, innit?

Every Thursday at eight, the entire neighbourhood directing their applause towards our gaff. Bingo wings flapping up and down the terrace. Wooden spoons banging on pots. A few frustrated football fans letting off flares.

Now, I’m not saying she wasn’t sick or nothing. But the woman smokes forty a day. Has done since I was a nipper. Plus, our gaff is only fifty meters from the North Circ. So yeah maybe she had Corona, but all I’m saying is - there were other candidates.

The Dragon, the Knight and the Rabbi by Elizabeth Hopkinson

Read by Stephen Butterton. Inspired by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg's Twitter thread "Fantastic Beasts and Whether to Eat Them."

"I'm not sure about this," said the knight.

The dragon rolled his eyes. They were bloodshot around the edges. It reminded the knight of - well - blood. His blood.

"It's perfectly simple," said the dragon. "You go to the rabbi and you ask him which creatures are kosher and which aren't. I've made a list." He held it up for the knight to see. It was skewered by one claw and slightly singed at the edges.

"I've never been to the Jewish Quarter before." The knight scraped one toe in the ashes at the edge of the fire.

"You came into my Jewish quarter, didn't you?"

Ordinary Men Must Die by GC Perry

Read by Lin Sagovsky

“I am dying.” The Emperor is seated atop a vast throne that shimmers in fitful torchlight. Two fleshy eunuchs, naked except for loincloths, fan him with slow, steady strokes.

“The Emperor’s soul is eternal,” says the Wise Man prostrated before the seated figure, his forehead pressed to the cold marbled floor. “We are told this in the Old Stories. The Emperor shall live forever in the Palace of the Most Honourable Ancestors, to be reunited with your father and his father before him, and all our Emperors right back to the First Emperor Most High.”

Next event: FOOLS & SAGES - Tuesday May 18th at The Phoenix

We've gazed into our crystal ball and are delighted to reveal the six profound and absurd stories to grace our next event, FOOLS & SAGES! So if you like ripped, naked priests, mysterious messages, spirit animals, deceitful advisers, eunuchs, keyworkers, dragons, knights, or indeed rabbis, we have the event for you!

 

The show is on Tuesday May 18th. Doors open at 6.30pm for a 7.30 start, downstairs at The Phoenix pub, 37 Cavendish Square, London W1G 0PP (tube: Oxford Circus). Tickets are strictly limited and £5 in advance

 

(UPDATE 17/5/21: INITIAL ALLOCATION SOLD OUT BUT 10 MORE TICKETS RELEASED!)

 

Please see below for how to reserve your spot. We are SO pleased to be live again and hope to see you there!

 

WINNING STORIES for FOOLS & SAGES

 

The Guru by Fiona Salter, read by Paul Clarke

He is Coming by Callum Jacobs, read by Claire Louise Amias

Billy's Ghost Dug by Emma Grae, read by Silas Hawkins

The Dragon, the Knight and the Rabbi by Elizabeth Hopkinson, read by Stephen Butterton

Ordinary Men Must Die by G. C. Perry, read by Lin Sagovsky

Heroes & Fools by Brian Kelly, read by Jeremiah O'Connor

 

Ticket booking info is underneath the pretty Tarot lady ...

 

The Fool from the Modern Witch Tarot

 

TICKETS & EVENT INFO (the small print stuff)

TL:DR

- Tickets are limited to 50
- and are a low low £5
- but you have to book a table even if it's just you. Singletons book tables for 2.
- please book and pay through Paypal using the orange Donate button above, top right

THE LONG VERSION

Please book a TABLE (for however many are in your group - max 6) rather than individual tickets, as pubs are not allowed to seat people of different "groups" (even if that group is only one person) together. So we strongly suggest you contact your friends if you think they'll be coming, and book a table together. If you're on your own just book a table for 2, but these are limited. 

 

Tickets will be limited to 40 (assuming all tables are full - may be slightly fewer if some tables are not full), and our ticket price remains a furlough-favouring £5.

 

PLEASE NOTE that ALL guests are required to do track & trace at the venue - if you don't have the NHS app you can fill in your details on paper. 

 

How to book: Please use the Donate button on the top right of the LL website page (look up, look right, it's small and orangey-yellow ...) to donate the price of however many tickets you want to us. So a table for 6 would be £30, but a table for 2 with only one guest is £5 because we're not going to punish you for not filling a table. Here's how you do it.

 

- Click the Donate button

- Enter the amount: £5 for 1 ticket, £10 for 2 etc. (you have to type in 5 - 0 - 0 for £5, it's slightly non-intuitive)

- Click Donate. This will take you to your Paypal login (if you don't have Paypal get someone else on your table to pay for tickets :) 

- IMPORTANT: Where it says Add a note please enter your name plus how many you want on your table. E.g. Katy Darby, Table for 4. Track & trace/QR code stuff is done at the venue so we don't need everyone's names, just the booker's.

- Ideally, tick the Share your email address button so we can contact you if there's any problem

- Click Donate Now

- And you're done! 

 

N.B. ALL donated funds (after Paypal fees) support contributing actors & authors: we take nothing. 

 

Agony by Jennifer Rickard

Agony MP3

Read by Harrie Dobby

To the red lady on the St James omnibus –

I sing of men, and of the love
That slipped from my fingers
Velvety pure, ever unsure
I still have your glove.
Please reply as to return address via this column.

- The man with the hat

It is a pointless endeavour for a writer to hide her guilty pleasures from her reader, so instead I shall boldly confess my greatest sin here – I adore the agony columns. Those personal messages which sit on the second page of every great paper in the city of London, where people write tiny love letters, advertisements for missing relatives, requests for money and other cries from the heart – the great majority written in some kind of cipher that is only intelligible to the single soul in the world to whom it is addressed … or to a good detective.

Balancing Act by Tomek Mossakowski

Balancing Act MP3

Read by Helen Belbin

Mysteriousness to 96%. Sexual drive to 87%. Considerateness 93%.

          I step back while the model recalibrates. Its power light is pulsing. Outside the window, the stars are hidden by the fug. It’s the fug that’s got us hidden indoors. That’s our world now: indoors.

          “Debs,” the model says, alert now, “Debs, you must be cold.”

          The voice startles me. Deeper than the last one. It whips a blanket off the chair, the green one, and puts it around my shoulders, clasps it together at my chest. Its other hand goes to my chin. It holds my chin in a little pinch, delicate, commanding. The model’s eyes have gone somewhere between green and brown. It invites me to dream, that colour.