Liars' League

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.