Liars' League

Time Gentlemen Please by Stephen Kehoe

Read by Oliver Yellop

Dracula Lord of Darkness, scourge of Romania, drinker of blood and defiler of virgins, prince of the night, terror of the ages, beast-master of many forms and dread count of Transylvania since time immemorial, licks his razor-sharp incisors in a fiendish fashion and laughs. “Mwhahahahaaa!”

He’s just rolled a twenty.

It’s games night down the Red Hellhound, and the fortnightly league game of Dungeons and Humans is in full swing. Placing an exquisitely painted lead figurine on the gameboard with a confident thwack, he intones in a devilishly deep baritone: “I go through the door.”

Dracula is proud of his character. He’s been playing the same one for a year now. A level 7 IT consultant from the kingdom of Croydon. Called Colin. Special skills include: turning it off and on again, and talking about GDPR.

Another Mother by Michael Harris Cohen

Another Mother MP3

Read by Miranda Harrison

She wakes, gasping, sputtering sea and sand, thrashed by coughs, till the saltwater is out, only air in her lungs, at last.

She breathes.

Alive.

Her eyes focus. A beach. No boats or houses. No people. An island. No lights but the moon and its shine on the sea.

Endless sea. It’s calmed now, a sheet of black metal. Not like before.

The memory of the storm cyclones her head, as if she still reels under house-sized waves and shrieking winds, the terror of the sea depths. Of her death.

She wrenches her thoughts back. She’s here. Alive. Unlike her boat, whose bones nod in the waves, she’s unbroken.

Rounds by Anna Savory

Rounds MP3

Read by William Teller

1am: St Thomas’ Hospital I.C.U.

I’ve been in a tremendous amount of hospitals over the course of a distinguished career, and this is the first that has smelt of Vicks. I don't think that’s normal. Hospitals have a list of approved smells and it runs, in order; bleach; urine; the tinny reek of blood; sweat; faeces; the earthy musk of fear. They’re more unpleasant odours than Vicks, objectively, but they’re fitting. A place for every smell and every smell in its place. Vicks is inappropriate. Facetious, even, because it creates the impression that here, in this intensive care unit, all they have to treat the patients with are tubs and tubs of Vicks.

‘Get more Vicks on him!’ they cry as a patient flat-lines.

‘Quick, Nurse! This woman’s body is rejecting her new heart, get a line of Vaporub into her, stat!'

Mr Ernest Lassiter, supine in his plastic-fenced bed and stinking, like everything else, of camphor, is long past the smelling stage. His organs are failing and no-one’s worked out why. It’s agonising, but the sooner they establish nothing can be done, the sooner he can be moved, pumped full of diamorphine, and guided out.

I want to be there when that happens. He’s got at least an hour though, so there’s no point in me hanging about, clearing my airways. I’ve got rounds to make.

Strawberry Creams by Victoria Finan

Strawberry Creams MP3

Read by Margaret Ashley

It’s a cold one tonight. Funny, isn’t it? The most sweltering of summers can lead to such chilly autumns. My Bill used to always say that if we’d a really hot June in Yorkshire, he’d make sure we were booked in for a week in Majorca or Lanzarote in October. He never took us though. Bridlington, more like, to a caravan up on Thornwick Bay. Once, to the Grand on Scarborough sea-front. That was the month before all the guests ended up with dicky tummies, and they had to shut it down for a week. Harry Gration, that nice man from BBC Look North, came and did a report outside the hotel. We watched it on the telly. We had fish and chips that night from Drake’s. Batter weren’t brilliant.

Trixie's Treat by Diane Payne

Read by Sophie Morris-Sheppard

“Trix,” I repeat, eyeing the potion I’ve just mixed up from the nameless dregs of our drinks cabinet, “do you really think this is a good idea?”

She rolls her eyes and waves her green nails whatever. She’s wearing yellow cat contact lenses and her eye makeup is more panda than Wanda (her sexy witch character) but the effect’s actually quite creepy, like she’s possessed. She never does anything by halves, my housemate. Other accessories include besom broomstick, gnarled ebony wand, and a velvet corset so tight she’s in constant danger of disappearing behind her own boobs.

“Jeez, Dr Buzzkill,” says Trixie, “just down it will you? It can’t actually kill us.”

“No,” I say doubtfully, “I mean, probably not …”

Hallowe'en event: TRICK & TREAT, Tuesday 9th October

Interested in our next event? It's Naughty & Nice for Christmas on Tuesday 11th December - more info here. 

BEWARE!

For on Hallowe'en, the dead crawl from their coffins, the witches celebrate their unholy Sabbath, and the veil 'twixt the worlds of flesh and spirit begins to fray! However, on Tuesday October 9th at our pre-Halloween event Trick & Treat, (click for the YouTube playlist of all the story videos) we just scared the pants off you with a pumpkinful of twisted, terrifying, and always entertaining short stories. And it only cost a fiver. It's literally the cheapest thrill in the West End. 

Those who braved our Trick & Treat night encountered monsters in the cupboard, death up a ginnel, the dread Castle Woebetide, four feral sisters, Wanda the Witch Wench, and even Death himself, all lurking in the shadow-haunted Pit of Terror (A.K.A the Phoenix's basement bar) ... 

(P.S. If you want to submit a story for December or come along to the next event, see here for our next deadline & event.) 

WINNING STORIES for TRICK & TREAT 

Hide. Go Seek. by Dan Howarth, read by Math Jones

Trixie's Treat by Diane Payne, read by Sophie Morris-Sheppard 

Another Mother by Michael Harris Cohen, read by Miranda Harrison

Rounds by Anna Savory, read by Will Teller

The Dungeon Master's Guide by Rhys Timson, read by David Mildon

Strawberry Creams by Victoria Finan, read by Margaret Ashley

As usual, doors open at 7pm for a 7.30 start and tickets are £5 on the door (cash only, sorry, but there is a cashpoint across the street). Drinks and food will be available at the bar, though there are also free spooky sweets and the infamous interval quiz features fabulously frightening books to be won! There's no pre-booking, but tables for four or more can be reserved by calling 07808 939535.

The venue is the downstairs bar at:

The Phoenix Pub
37 Cavendish Square 
London 
W1G 0PP

Accessibility note: Access to the basement is via stairs: there is no lift, sadly. 

The Phoenix is 5 minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines. Map here)

The R27s by Anna Savory

The R27s MP3

Read by Susan Moisan

I recently spent an agonising weekend completing my first ever tax return. It was the sort of long, grey slog that made me wish repeatedly for death. Once you’ve spent two hours trying to locate your 10-digit Unique Taxpayer Reference online you really do begin to question whether you’re living at all any more. Imagine then the pleasing sense of irony (and less pleasing sense of dread) I had when HMRC called me in my lunch break to tell me I’d been dead all along.

‘According to our system,’ said a girl who sounded only minutes from the grave herself, ‘according to our system, you were marked legally deceased on the 28th of August last year…’

I cast my mind back. 

‘No …’ I said ‘I don’t think so. Was that the bank holiday?’

Render Unto Caesar by Tom Heaton

Render Unto Caesar MP3

Read by Greg Page

The address was ‘Cobbes, Fetters Lane’, but no one on Fetters Lane had heard of ‘Cobbes’, until at last I stopped a grey-haired old dear who was being pulled along by two eager Norfolk terriers.

‘The Cobbes? The loggers?’ she said.

‘The what?’

‘They sell firewood,’ she said.

Do they now? I thought.

She sucked her lips as if thinking something over. ‘Two hundred yards that way, there’s a cattle grid. Park there, cross the field and find the track going up the hill at the end. The Cobbes’ place is on the left, but they don’t take to visitors.’

A Piece of Me by Matt Kimmich

A Piece of Me MP3

Read by Anton Thompson-McCormick

I am sitting in front of the television, on my favourite chair. It’s been an uneventful day. Now, while I am sitting there, the doorbell rings. This in itself is unusual, because I’m not expecting anyone. I get up, walk towards the door and look through the fisheye. There’s a man outside, dressed in a blue uniform, almost like a postman’s uniform. He also has that typical unconcentrated ‘postman’ look on his face, like he’s already thinking about what he’ll do once the job is done. As I said, I’m not expecting anyone, so this is a bit of a surprise.

I open the door, and he gives me a flat look.

“Mr-” He glances at the pad he’s holding and says my name.

“Yes?”

“I’m here for your thumb.”

Raising Taxes by Jennifer Rickard

Raising Taxes MP3

Read by Louisa Gummer

You're two days dead when they come and see me. They say they have to visit that early because if they're going to perform a Raising, they need to freeze the deceased as soon as possible. But it's not a coincidence that they're also visiting when the grief is still raw. It means they're more likely to get a signature, because at that point you’d agree to anything to bring the person back into your life.

They didn't have to apply that tactic to me, because I decided to sign as soon as you flat-lined. As soon as the hospital rang me and told me about your moment of inattention and that speeding car.

Number 35 by Joshua Osto

Number 35 MP3

Read by Lin Sagovsky

I’ve lived on Lonsdale Road my whole life. My brother lives across the street and three doors down, in the house that we both grew up in. When I married Harry I made sure we moved onto Lonsdale Road. It wouldn’t feel right to live anywhere else, and birds of a feather need to stick together, they say. But there’s been so much trouble these last years, to do with number thirty-seven. Then Harry let me down Christmas just gone, after the party at Devan’s, sucking on that young girl’s ear like some kind of pervert. He was drunk though, and thought it was all a laugh.

I’d thought it was all over.

A year before that they arrested Cresswell. They found all sorts in the basement, stuff that you wouldn’t want to think of. Not just bodies but bits of bodies. Some people said that they weren’t surprised; that Cresswell had one of those faces. Not like my Harry, who has the face of a naughty cherub.

“It’s because I’ve led a blameless life,” he says to me. He’s a cheeky one.

LifePlan by Liam Hogan

LifePlan MP3

Read by Carrie Cohen

It has long been a problem that has plagued actuaries, politicians and indeed, prudent individuals such as yourselves. Planning, for an uncertain future. How much should you pay into your pension not knowing how long, or indeed, if you'll ever claim it? How much should you set aside for periods of unemployment? For healthcare issues? For assisted living?

Until now, this thorniest of problems has been tackled - but far from solved - by the crudest of tools, by the bluntest of instruments: statistics. Your life expectancy and other, similar data are simply averaged. Which means that the man who dies the morning of his retirement party is subsidising the woman celebrating her 100^th birthday surrounded by friends and family and with a congratulatory message from the Queen.

October event: DEATH & TAXES Hallowe'en special, Tue 10th October

You've seen the pumpkin costumes at the checkouts, you've clocked the skull-shaped sweets in the shops ... Yes, Hallowe'en is coming - and to celebrate the terror and horror of the season, our October event theme is DEATH & TAXES (click for Facebook event).

 

Here's the podcast from the night, the videos are on YouTube and the story texts and author & actor bios lurk sinisterly here. 

 

We selected six spine-shuddering stories to chill the very marrow of your bones: whether you're a bereaved lover or an insurance hawker, a hapless (soon to be limbless) couch potato or officially dead - from rural pig-farm to suburban slaughterhouse, there was no escape from Death & Taxes! The show took place on Tuesday 10th October, starting at 7.30pm (doors open at 7pm), and as ever it was a spookily cheap £5 admission. What's to be scared of?

 

DEATH & TAXES WINNING STORIES 

The R27s by Anna Savory *NEW AUTHOR*, read by Susan Moisan
A Piece of Me by Matt Kimmich *NEW AUTHOR*, read by Anton Thompson-McCormick
LifePlan by Liam Hogan, read by Carrie Cohen
Render Unto Caesar by Tom Heaton, read by Greg Page
Raising Taxes by Jennifer Rickard, read by Louisa Gummer
Number 35 by Joshua Osto read by Lin Sagovsky

 

The night will also feature our infamous book quiz, with some seriously dark novels as prizes, inflatable bats, orange tinsel and (of course) buckets of ghoulish candy. Tickets cost £5 on the door (cash only, no advance booking) and seating is unreserved - so best to get there a bit ahead of time if you want a good table. Accessibility note: access to the basement bar is via stairs - there's no lift, alas. 

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.

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

Mother's Milk by J.A. Hopper

Mother's Milk MP3

Read by Elizabeth Bower

Everybody said the first baby was the hardest. All the books told you what to expect, then completely undermined that by saying every baby was different and that really, nobody knew what to expect. Her friends' experiences with their own kids had ranged from the nightmarish to the transcendental – but in all Jo's NCT classes, breastfeeding coffee mornings (not that you were really supposed to drink it) and furtive internet searches, she'd never come across anything like this.