Liars' League

The Dead Wives' Club by Ilora Choudhury

The Dead Wives' Club MP3

Read by Gloria Sanders

George Vandemeer Jr., one of the most successful American writer-directors of his time, with a string of blockbusters to his name— but as yet no Academy Awards— was asleep in his palatial villa in the Hollywood Hills, dreaming pleasantly about his latest conquest, when he heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked in his ear.

“Wake up.”

He opened his eyes to see a nine-millimetre Beretta pointed at his face. A woman’s face came into focus, peering at him with a deadpan expression.

“Gaaah! What the fuck—?”

He jumped, falling back against his monogrammed satin pillows. Three other figures were gathered around his bed, shrouded in darkness. There was something distinctly menacing about them — dark, morbid, brooding. A powerful, rotten smell assaulted his senses, like dead cat.

What's For You Won't Pass You By by Simon Sylvester

What's for you won't pass you by MP3

Read by Cliff Chapman

Once I became aware of the scarecrow, I could think of nothing else. It was a few weeks after the harvest, approaching Hallowe’en, and one of the children had carved him a pumpkin for a head. I yelled at them for wasting good food, but they lied to my face and said they hadn’t done a thing, so I refused them supper. My wife argued, saying that they were good children, honest children. I replied that all people get the things that they deserve, and when she protested, I yelled at her, too, until she began to cry. I tried to comfort her, but she shrugged off my arm. I glanced up and glimpsed the pumpkin face at the edge of the field. The leering, jeering, moonface scarecrow watched me through the window. He’d seen it all. I marched outside, snatched the pumpkin from the pole, and tossed it into the corn stubble.

Next morning, the head was back on the stick. Some vermin had nibbled at the pumpkin overnight, so his smile was a little wider, his eyes withered in the corners. He was even more mocking than before. I simmered at the defiance, but — if it meant that much to the children — then so be it. I swallowed it down and set about my work in the fields.

First Date by Matthew Robinson

First Date MP3

Read by Clareine Cronin

            “You must be the embalmer,” she says.

            “You must be the gravedigger,” he says. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” They sit under a bare yellow bulb, knees near touching. She notices the care he puts into dressing his salad, his manipulation of knife and fork — how his hands turn leaves. He admires her spooning of soup — working across the bowl until empty. The economy of it.

            “Supposing this date goes well,” he says, “what happens next?”

            “That’s easy,” she says, “we decide where to live.”

            “Well I do have the mortuary, lots of bedrooms, steady income, but there is nothing better than the outdoors to grow a family. Perhaps your boneyard would be best.”

Hefted by Gary Evans

Spring? Doesn't feel like spring. These fields are colder now than they were in winter. 

Hands all swollen, fingers fat and red.

Unless I just wasn't feeling the cold this much in winter.

Don't think about the cold. Work quickly, carefully mind. Don't hack at it. Let the knife do the work and don't think about the cold.

I pin the lamb down flat on its back, legs in the air. Around all four legs I knife circles skindeep.

I pinch the skin under the lamb's throat and stab into it, making sure I don't hit any veins and squirt blood everywhere like I did last time. I glide the knife through the skin covering the lamb's little belly all the way from throat to arse.

Baggage by Sophie Bloom

Baggage MP3

Read by Susan Moisan

With hindsight, I can’t believe I agreed to cook Steve a romantic dinner – his first encounter with my cooking, and my flat – on Hallowe’en night: it really was begging for trouble. I suppose I didn’t want to spoil it. We’d only been seeing each other a few weeks, and after a chain of disastrous relationships with sticky ends, I was starting to feel optimistic about Steve.

Advantage #1: Steve was a fireman – which, sizzling calendars aside, meant he worked funny hours too, and didn’t mind meeting on midweek daytimes or at midnight after a late shift. Plus, the way I cooked, I might need his firefighting skills in the kitchen.

Advantage #2: he was into me, but not too much. He didn’t surreptitiously sniff my hair or hoard my nail-clippings, and so far I hadn’t discovered a shrine in his toilet.

I am a Worm by George Huntington

Read by Tim Larkfield

It is the warm spot, where I am nestled. The cranny between the palate and cribiform plate. I occupy the pleasant moist section close to your brain. The warm air filtering through is delectable, maybe you’ve felt me wriggle from time to time. The sensation is utterly delightful, I must say. I love what you’ve done with the place and I really couldn’t ask for more. I do live a very peaceful life, you’ll be glad to hear.

Your nasal cavity is my lodging. I sure am sorry to trouble you with all of this. I do hope that I didn’t remove too many hairs, though they did tickle me so. Still, they’ve often provided a firm anchor for my pedipalps to latch onto. Usually it was when you blew your nose. Such a distasteful practice. Honestly, it causes me great inconvenience. I’ve noticed that as I’ve grown bigger you’ve been doing that more often. Is it my antenna that makes you itch?

Flesh & Bone for Hallowe'en, Tuesday 11th October

Whew! The bodycount in the Flesh & Bone submissions pile was impressive (or perhaps alarming) - one of our biggest themes in recent months. Nevertheless our fearless judges hacked their way through a ton of gore to emerge, bloody but unbowed, brandishing the following winning stories in their dripping hands ...

FLESH & BONE STORIES
(click title for Facebook event)

First Date by Matthew Robinson NEW AUTHOR read by Clareine Cronin

The Dead Wives' Club by Ilora Choudhury NEW AUTHOR read by Gloria Sanders

Hefted by Gary Evans NEW AUTHOR read by Alex Mann

Baggage by Sophie Bloom NEW AUTHOR read by Susan Moisan

I Am A Worm by George "Aitch" Huntington NEW AUTHOR read by Tim Larkfield

What's for You Won't Pass You By by Simon Sylvester read by Cliff Chapman

 

This Hallowe'en month we're serving up plenty of fresh meat in the form of authors brand new to Liars' League, as well as embalmers and gravediggers in love, vengeful Hollywood wives, worms, livestock, bodyswaps, zombies, ghosts, revenants, and (naturally) loads of spooky sweets! We will also have a terrifying array of brand new horror and thriller books to win in our infamous interval literary quiz. 

Doors open at 7pm for a 7.30 start and it's just £5/your immortal soul on the door (cash only).We usually finish around 9.30 and stick around for a drink after. Seating is first come first served - so it's an idea to get there a bit ahead of time if you want a good table - but if you have a party of five or more you can reserve a table by calling 07808 939535. 

The venue is downstairs at:
The Phoenix
37 Cavendish Square
London
W1G 0PP

(The Phoenix is five minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines). Map here