Liars' League

Talons & Teeth by Lizzie Muncey

Read by the author (57 minutes into podcast, here)

I live just over the road from them; directly opposite. If I wanted to, which of course I don’t, I could see right into their lounge from my bedroom window. I’d have to stand on a chair and climb on my chest of drawers to do it, but it would be possible.

The old one is a bit wild nowadays, if I can put it like that. She’s developed a strange, intense look about her. And a mad laugh-come-cackle. With the middle one it’s more of a general crumbling. An overall dishevelment. She used to be an attractive young woman, but now it’s like she resists her beauty. And the youngest one too, having been such a quiet, biddable child, has loosened. Now she walks around barefoot and I can tell, even from this distance, often neglects to put on a bra.

Tiny Furies by E. Ce Miller

Read by Martine Richards (1h 15min into podcast, here)

It all started with the bento box. Sort of.

Bree's mother—the one still bragging about the farmhouse sink she'd installed in the kitchen of her mid-century Craftsman cottage, even though most of us had already stopped by at some point to compliment it—saw some account on Pinterest, and the next thing we knew, the entire first grade came tumbling home one afternoon demanding sunflower butter on sprouted wheat bread cut into hearts and stars. They wanted a rainbow of bell peppers in one compartment and something called tempeh in another. Their eyes beseeched us as they spoke reverently of a spoonful of plant-based yogurt dusted with Ceylon cinnamon for dessert.

Karma by Katie Lewis

Read by Alexandra Kenna (4min 40sec into podcast, here)

Anisha receives her first task at 2 p.m.

>Steal a hat from the souvenir stall at the entrance to the Cardiff Coffee Convention. You have 25 minutes.

Her heart thumps; her palms are sweaty. She can’t do this – she’s never even stolen a pen before! But the first message she got on the burner phone was clear: complete three tasks by the specified deadlines, or she will die and so will Nidra. Every Karma viewer knows of participants whose loved ones paid the price for failure or snitching. Anisha doesn’t understand how she ended up in Karma’s sights but she loves her little sister too much to risk it.

All the Times I Thought I was Pregnant by JM Cyrus

Read by Aren Devlin (35 minutes into podcast, here)

15 September 2017. I was 12. Most of my friends at school, some of my frenemies too, had started their period over the summer. The holidays hadn't just granted new tans and stories of holiday boyfriends. But it hadn’t blessed me.

One thing led to another, insecurities building on each other, and before long I was convinced I hadn’t started yet because I was to be the next virgin mother.

I told my mother about this once. Okay, I told her about it several times. All right, many times. When she got bored with me I checked the internet.

Turned out I wasn't pregnant.

 

A Doll's Head in Hackney by Kathryn Sharpe

Read by Miranda Harrison (19 minutes into podcast, here)

Shana opens the window that overlooks Clapton Way, the one with mould at the seal that never disappears, and decisively throws the doll’s head into the street. Moments before she’d snapped it clean from the body. She looks at her baby in the corner of the kitchen and living area who is still screaming. Still eight months. Still difficult. The smell of weed from the corridor laps at the door and she breathes in, half hoping for a high that won’t come. 

LATEST EVENT: Women & Girls, Tuesday 10th September

Hurrah! Tuesday September 10th saw the 8th edition of our annual talent-spotting tour-de-force of female-led fiction, Women & Girls! We had five stunning stories by five women writers exploring everything from aliens to arson: winning stories and full details are below. 

 

WINNING STORIES for WOMEN & GIRLS (8th edition)

 

"A Doll's Head in Hackney" by Kathryn Sharpe, read by Miranda Harrison

Divorce, adoption and a doll's head to bind them ...

 

"All the Times I Thought I was Pregnant" by JM Cyrus, read by Aren Devlin

Surreal humour when an overthinking teen finds love in the most unusual place

 

"Karma" by Katie Lewis, read by Alexandra Kenna

Black Mirror meets the dark web in this tense tale of the deadly consequences of voyeurism

 

"Talons & Teeth" by Lizzie Muncey, read by the author 

The collapse and rebirth of a suburban family, as told by their nosy neighbour

 

"Tiny Furies" by E. Ce Miller, read by Martine Richards

Absolute scenes in first-grade after Bree brings in a bento box for lunch

 

 

Fancy coming along on Tuesday 10th September? Book your budget-friendly £5 tickets ASAP if you want the best seats - and don't forget that two-for-one burgers on Tuesday nights are BACK at our venue, the Phoenix, Cavendish Square, W1 - PLUS there will be our usual epic literary quiz with brilliant books by women to win, and free sweets for all!

 

Tuesday 10th September, 7.30pm, tickets £5 (doors open at 6.30pm)

The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

N.B. We DO now accept card payments on the door, but it's well worth booking a ticket in advance to ensure you get a table - just click here. Any questions? See below. 

 

Tuesday 10th September, 7.30pm, tickets £5 (doors open at 6.30pm)

The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

N.B. We DO now accept card payments on the door, but it's well worth booking a ticket in advance to ensure you get a table - just click here. Any questions? See below. 

Tuesday 10th September, 7.30pm, tickets £5 (doors open at 6.30pm)

The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

N.B. We DO now accept card payments on the door, but it's well worth booking a ticket in advance to ensure you get a table - just click here. Any questions? See below. 

Tuesday 10th September, 7.30pm, tickets £5 (doors open at 6.30pm)

The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

N.B. We DO now accept card payments on the door, but it's well worth booking a ticket in advance to ensure you get a table - just click here. Any questions? See below. 

The Phoenix basement bar
37 Cavendish Square, London, W1G 0PP

(nearest tube Oxford Circus)

 

N.B. We DO now accept card payments on the door, but it's well worth booking a ticket in advance to ensure you get a table - just click here. Any questions? See below. 

Romancing the Cherry by Laura Morgan

Read by Patsy Prince - third story in podcast, at 35:11, link below:
S&L Podcast (right click Open Link in New Tab to enable fast-forwarding)

If you want a peaceful weekend away in the sun, don’t spend it with serious pub quizzers. I was reaching this conclusion before we even got off the plane. Nigel had invited me as a last-minute replacement. I wasn’t much of a quizzer, certainly not in his league, but he knew I had minimal commitments and a flexible schedule (for which read: almost no family, few friends and sporadic-at-best work), so I was a good bet for making up numbers.

On the flight I’d gradually put names to faces. Mary and Deepak, a frowning couple eating egg sandwiches. Steve, a burly northerner talking obsessively about sport.

(“Is sport your specialist subject?”

“You can’t have specialist subjects when you quiz at this level, Annie. You have to be a generalist.”)

Somebody by Lanay Griessner

Read by Lucy Mabbitt, full podcast here. 

I worked at The Lost Sock for six months before I started stealing from the Lost and Found. It was a pragmatic decision. I had no more space in the box and there was a new pleather vest to add to the pile. I could have gotten a second box, or a bigger box, but that just would have delayed the inevitable. No one came back to collect anything. Ever. Maybe leaving something at a laundromat was another way of throwing it out, like sneaking it in someone else's garbage can because yours was full. 

But the stuff wasn't garbage. There was a flip phone, a cashmere sweater, sequinned leggings, a gold wedding ring, a camouflage fanny pack, a magic 8 ball, a smorgasbord of foreign coins that were almost the same size as quarters but were not actually quarters, a peace sign crop top, a sari wrap, flannel pyjamas, a Snuggie, and a pink vibrator. 

Thrill by Georgina Sims

Read by Gloria Sanders - full podcast here. 

It’s humid on the balcony. The street below emits only a quiet hum, its buzz weighed down by the heat. I let my body linger for a while, taking solace in the silence before watching it sway in the reflection of the sliding door. The throbbing in my right foot is like a mimic of my heartbeat. Everything is so rhythmic – so slow.

Paul’s blurred silhouette paces around the kitchen, disrupting the mirror-image as he tries to find something to clean up the blood. I want to tell him to check the third drawer on the left, but I refrain. Because I can’t remember how it got like this. I can’t remember when this stopped being fun.

An Evening at the Faeling Cafe by Charlotte Davis

Read by Sophie Morris-Sheppard - full podcast here. 

Aperitif: Spellbound Martini - Shaken for a hint of glamour!

***

Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I’ve been freezing the bastard for months; churning it over and over like butter, or ice cream. Biding my time just as he had bided his, since that fateful day he ordered his first Foreplay Frappe - a fun night guaranteed! - with that dopey smile.

“Good choice, that’s my favourite!” I exclaimed as I rang it up.

“Then one for yourself as well,” came his smooth reply. “Or maybe something a little stronger when you get off shift?”

What Was & What Is by Kathryn Sharpe

Read by Katy Darby (click to listen) What Was & What Is MP3

You’re in the office; a small room decorated with dead plants in a building with other businesses trying to make it. The windows seal the sound of the street below.  Moorgate is busy in the week again. It’s a rare visit from you. Since you left London for love you’re not here often.

Leanna is sitting opposite on a patchy leather sofa that drips with drool from the dogs that come in. Bringing in pandemic puppies who have become adults with behavioral issues is a work benefit listed first on the careers page, above the pensions that no one can afford to contribute to and the ‘inclusive culture’ that is not really followed.

The Visit by Marta Patiño

Read by Carrie Cohen (2nd story in podcast, at 16min 30s, here)

Cassandra could not explain why she was compelled to visit Chance House. Or why she had dreamt of the grand estate, seeming to know its every corner. She looked out from her bedroom window as stars clung to the waning night. The last fragments of a dream darted away like silver fish, replaced by a childhood memory of grey stone walls etched with moss, and a line of windows like a hound baring its teeth. Cassandra was practically a stranger to Chance House, her mother’s childhood home, though she knew well where the long driveway began. She scanned the lacework of trees, trying to locate the dwelling that lay beyond the fields and woods.

It was true the house had been in her thoughts of late. The property had lain empty for months, and had been recently inherited by Mr Kitto, who had left his mines in Northumberland to take up residence there. No doubt she was curious about meeting her cousins.

Looking for Matti by Grace Andreacchi

Read by Sarah Barlex (5th story in podcast, at 1hXXmin, here)

It was Christmas in Berlin. Lise had come alone on the train from London because there was no one who might have come with her. Everywhere in the streets the smell of burning, mingled with the sickly sweet odour of death. Piles of ash appeared solid as mountains but dissolved at the touch of a hand, collapsed in upon themselves, then scattered white wraiths of cloud upon the wind. In place of buildings were towers of broken rubble from which the wreckage of life protruded – a picture of an alpine landscape upon a half-burnt wall, a bathtub, white and glistening, swaying like an exotic fruit upon a stem of twisted lead piping, somebody’s leg still wearing half a pair of military trousers: further down the street, a pair of calcified boots. Lise was in Berlin, looking for Matti. The streets were nearly empty of people, the few she passed like evil ghosts swathed in black rags; thin and shivering, they stared after her with dull eyes.

When duppy does come, who are you? by Clarissa Angus

Read by Sophie Cartman (final story in podcast, here - find it at 1:30:10)

Under an obsidian sky with no stars, Kiyane crouches by the chicken coop in the yard behind mistress house. She doesn’t know what to do. Going back inside might mean she would dead. Hiding in the yard might see her get catch and could dead, too. She covers her ears, but that does no good. She can still hear every dying scream of her kin, the other folks trapped inside the house, before they fall away, leaving only the creeping silence of their killer.

When duppy come, you should run ‘way
When duppy come, them nah speak but them stay
Duppy is mean, but duppy is few
When duppy does come, who are you?

By the Flower, not the Axe by Leila Murton Poole

Read by Clareine Cronin (fifth story in podcast, here, at 55:15)

The King always has blood beneath his fingernails. It is all I think about as he touches me, clumsily, with bloated hands that struggle to obey his desires. Rusty flakes crumble onto my skin, the dried blood of hunted deer and boar though they may as well belong to one of my predecessors. Henry sees his wives as dispensable, to serve his purpose and nothing more. The ghosts of his beheaded wives surround the bed, chanting a word that drowns out his grunts of carnal desire.

Run.

Be Lucky, Girls by Hannah Downes

Read by Lucy Mabbitt (first story in podcast: click here)

Esme’s heart beats so quickly that even super fast songs, 160 beats per minute, sound as though they’re in slow motion.

My pulse could outrun anything, she thinks to herself as she lies awake each night, her bedsheets palpitating in time with the blood pumping fast through her veins.

The thought that her pulse could outrun anything is something of a comfort to Esme when she reads news headlines, daily, about women being raped, murdered, deleted from her city. And yet she still cannot will herself to close both eyes.

While You Were Sleeping by Alyson Tait

To listen to actress Lucy Mabbitt reading the story, click here: While You Were Sleeping MP3

I let my head fall against the chair's faded leather upholstery. "Today would be the second anniversary of our first date. A year ago, you argued that I mis-remembered. My name came out of your mouth every fifth word like 'Molly' was suddenly a vulgar swear."

I listen to the ventilator for a moment and scoff. "You know, Hannah … I remembered all of our anniversaries. I remember that it took you six full months to agree that we were official. Another three to meet your parents."

Silence greets me -- as usual. "You'd never admit it, but I always suspected I'm your first girlfriend."

A frog jumps into my throat, and for a minute, it's hard to speak.

"Do you remember how long the two of us sat in that corner booth? Our drinks ran dry, and that dinky light bulb blew out. It took forty minutes for our waitress to notice."

Saltwater by Sally Wild

Guilt is a hunter. Love is a warrior. Sorrow is a stranger.  Solitude is a face glimpsed in a crowd and then gone forever. Knowledge is a ray of light in the darkness. Confusion is a twat.

I stand at the edge of the sea. I feel sad. At the edge of the sea, where the water meets the land, where the land meets the water, I stand, and experience the emotion of sadness. I listen to the gentle roar and rush of the sea, the quiet but persistent rush and roar that is the sea’s roaring rush, its rushing roar. Now I know sadness and now I know the sea. The sea, the sound, the sadness, the pebbles on the beach. How many pebbles? Impossible to count them, but I know – I know – it must be more than twelve.

Absence Episodes by Darinka Aleksic

Read by Claire Lacey

Sandra found out she was pregnant early on, when “your baby is approximately the size of a blueberry”. She’d never bothered with books when she was expecting the girls, it had all just happened. But it was different this time round. By the time the baby was size of a large plum, Barry had already fucked off, and she’d spent the weeks between grapefruit and watermelon entirely by herself.

Dave was on the scene by the time they stopped measuring babies by fruit.

What size was Ryan then? she wondered, as she sat in the darkness of the car park. Six months old. Christmas turkey for 20, maybe. Hefty.

The Wolf's Daughter by Mina Ma

Read by Carrie Cohen

Red is quite the storyteller. 

‘There was a deafening roar as it charged out of the undergrowth, coming right at me, straight for my pale throat ...’

She’s told this same story to locals and tourists alike over the years – while Apple gurgled in a basket at her feet; while Apple toddled in between the chairs and legs of audience members who pinched her cheeks; while Apple played hide and seek with her own shadow. Red tells it, now, beside the inn’s glowing fireplace, while Apple serves drinks behind the bar.

Imprisoned, We Dream of Flight by Katie Lewis

Read by Lin Sagovsky

When Abbie summons me, she offers up her soul to destroy everything.

Laughing, I decline. “I’m a fallen angel,” I say, gesturing to my missing wings. “Exiled to Hell for greed. But one day, I’ll be freed and the world will be mine to play with.” I grin, showing teeth. “I need it undestroyed for that to happen.”

Abbie scowls. She’s young – maybe fifteen – and exudes loathing.  “What makes you so sure you’ll be freed?”

I shrug, glancing around what seems to be her bedroom. It’s oddly bare. “Humans worked out how to summon us from Hell,” I say. “Eventually, one will work out how to free me entirely, in return for something they think they need.” I smirk. “In fact, I have some idea of how that ritual would work. You could –”

“Only if you’ll destroy everything,” she says quickly.