Liars' League

Saturday Nights Have Changed by Soraya Berry

Saturday Nights Have Changed MP3

Read by Aren Devlin

Outside, the weather’s turning. The air is fecund with possibility. The sky has rinsed itself clean, and the certainty of new life hangs around in gardens and parks where the soil is busy nurturing millions of tiny seeds and bulbs. They’ll burst open soon, in an orgy of very slow and satisfying activity.

Inside, he sits. And waits. And watches. There’s not much more he can do. Ironic, really, that their own slow and satisfying activity has led them to this room. It hums with the buzz of unidentifiable machines, tubes attached to walls and the swish of the curtain rails which flick back and forth as midwives pop in periodically to stick two fingers in and assess dilation.

It’s all quite fascinating, he thinks, although he wisely doesn’t tell his wife that.

How to Keep them Away by Nora Nadjarian

How To Keep them Away MP3

Read by Jasmine Raymond

My mother warned me. If you ever see them, she said, you must cross yourself to make them disappear. They will steal your voice if you don’t.

The fear of coming face to face with a Kalikandjaro and losing my voice made my heart beat in my throat. My thoughts trembled during the twelve coldest nights of the year leading to Christmas.  I placed my hands above the crackling fire in our fireplace and reminded myself that I lived in a safe, warm world. I had to look after my baby sister when my parents were busy or away. When she fell asleep in her cot, her rosy face lost in dreams as sweet and soft as candy floss, I envied her bliss. I couldn’t move in the house without seeing their shadows on the living room curtains, without hearing their hooves on the stone kitchen floor or their high-pitched voices in the creak of kitchen cupboards opening and closing.

Odd Numbers by James Odunsi

Odd Numbers MP3

Read by Sophie Cartman

“Two oat milk vanilla iced lattes, please. Double shots.”

“Two iced lattes … anything else I can get for you today?” The barista looked around – presumably for the recipient of the second coffee.

“Nope, just those, thanks.”

“And the name?”

“Olivia, thanks…” she looked at his name tag, “Evan.” A good name, nice and even. She looked down again, and a packet of cookies caught her eye: ‘JUST 80 CALORIES’ they claimed, and there were two of them. “Actually, I’ll have these as well.” she said, sliding them onto the counter.

Tethered Crowns by Kariny Vee

Tethered Crowns MP3

Read by DK Ugonna

The capital of the Mainland was changing. Something was amiss.

The wooden sign carved with 'Rika’s Salts' loomed over Saphyre’s head with an unnerving stillness. Where was the wind? She dabbed at the sweat trickling down her neck and tugged the hood of her cloak down, one of the ends snagging painfully on her left horn.

The months of summer would start to fade in the coming weeks, but the heat would cling to the streets in puffs for another fortnight. She eyed the frilled dress of a sorceress scuttling through the streets, the material light enough to sway with every whisper of a phantom breeze. It was a luxury she could not afford; no, she was safer with her frayed cloak and ash-coated fingernails.

THERE & BACK, Tuesday 14th June at 7.30pm

 

In flaming June, we presented tales of travel to take you from the frozen lakes of Hell to the sweltering cities of North Africa, via Northern Ireland, fantasy-world theme parks, a trip up the Amazon and a slip back in time.
Destinations included: The Yorkshire Dales, Alexandria, Hades, Narnia, Belfast, central Guatelumbia.
Methods of travel: On foot, Charon's ferry, Egyptian microbus, Gerry's Famous Belfast Taxi Tour, Spanish galleon & stolen unicorn. 

 

COLOUR & VISION, Tuesday 12th April

On Tuesday 12th April (also our 15th birthday, btw) we showcased work by writers of colour with a superb selection of brand-new stories, in genres from contemporary comedy to folk-horror, domestic drama to dark fantasy. We travelled from "NHS mosh pit" to Chinese restaurant, psychiatrist's office to a city of sorcerers - and met the terrifying, hoofed kalikandjari ...

As usual, all the stories were recorded and are on our YouTube playlist here, and our podcast here. Guest judge Catherine Menon, author of the award-nominated Fragile Monsters, joined us too!

WINNING STORIES for COLOUR & VISION

Dragon Blood, Pig Heart by Junyi Chew, read by Rebecca Yeo

Tethered Crowns by Kariny Vee, read by DK Ugonna

Saturday Nights Have Changed by Soraya Berry, read by Aren Devlin

Odd Numbers by James Odunsi, read by Sophie Cartman

How to Keep them Away by Nora Nadjarian, read by Jasmine Raymond

General info for our events

Tickets cost £5 each and are limited to 50. The Facebook event is here. If you want to book multiple tickets, please do so by clicking the orangey-yellow DONATE button (top right, above) and donating £5 for 1, £10 for 2 tickets etc. Doors will open at 6.30 for a 7.30pm start, we'll have an interval at around 8.30, and the show usually finishes up around 9.30pm after which the bar will be open until (at least) 11pm. 

The venue is the basement bar, downstairs at:
The Phoenix pub
37 Cavendish Square,
London W1G 0PP (tube: Oxford Circus).
Access info: stairs down to the basement, no lift unfortunately.

More details below - and if you still have any questions just email us at liars@liarsleague.com

Never Look A Gift Donkey in the Mouth by Callum Jacobs

Read by Claire Louise Amias

When I returned home on that Friday evening, the day after our first date, and I found the bunch of tulips behind the recycling bin, I was thrilled. Let me be clear, I’m not the kind of girl who’s particularly impressed by romantic gestures, and I’m pretty much ambivalent when it comes to flowers in general, but honestly it made my day. It had been a bastard of a week; my year nine bottom set had been behaving like absolute monsters, the head of department had been whining at me about the reports for my GCSE class which were now a full week late, and some total bellend had stolen my World’s Best Teacher mug. To be fair, there are a few of them floating around the staffroom, but still, you don’t touch a colleague’s mug - that’s the first thing they teach you on your PGCE for fuck’s sake.

Let There Be Tigers by Sara Corris

Read by Andrea Hall

I’m not thinking about you, Ian.

I haven’t spent this sleepless night playing “How Soon Is Now” on a continuous loop and alternately missing you so much it makes my chest ache, and wanting you here so I can scream at you until my throat bleeds.

#

I check whether anyone’s gotten back to me on my manuscript. Nada.

If I get my book published, he’ll like me again. Wanna fuck me and stuff. Or at least talk to me.

 

Just Not Cricket by Sophie Bloom

Just Not Cricket MP3

Read by Gloria Sanders

I’d genuinely decided there were no nice men left in London, possibly the world, before I met Mark: that they’d all been snapped up or kidnapped or something. And then Mark happened.

Full disclosure: I’d been stood up the night we met. It was Friday and the pub was heaving: I was glaring into my phone, thinking about hunting down Johnny No-Show from Tinder and possibly killing him with an axe, when Mark asked if he could join me. I didn’t really want company, not even Johnny No-Show – in fact, especially not that prick – but I mumbled OK and he sat down. 

The Welsden Herald Hedge Witch by Liam Hogan

Read by Carrie Cohen

“Hello?”

“Ah, um, is this ...?” The voice of a mouse, ringing the doorbell of the neighbourhood cat, and hoping they don't answer. “Is that ... the gardener?”

“Yes dear, this is Agnes Rose, The Welsden Herald's Gardening Agony Aunt. Do you have a horticultural conundrum for me?”

“Are you ...?” The voice drifted, before coming back with something like renewed confidence. “Are you also known as the green-fingered witch?”

Understanding by Hannah Hoare

Read by Stephen Butterton

As the howl of the siren for Daily Communion ebbed away, she removed her fingers from her ears. Through the thick glass dome, she could see far across the desert city: the pyramid temple with its needle-sharp spire; houses of varying heights, with their own glass domes housing home-cultivated spandle plant, turnaberry, blue-leafed leet. Beyond this the desert, and above, the pale green sky flecked with diamond day-stars. She wanted Father with her.

Usually she preferred the solitude of the dome, but after the news this morning, his cool blue body beside her would have provided some comfort. However, even today, he could not miss Communion. The sky shifted from pale green to a deep teal. The stars grew brighter.

As the hands on her wrist-timer reached the twenty-fifth hour, Father knocked softly, then came up through the hatch. His black eyes glistened. “They have come.”

Good Enough to Eat by Helen Morris

Good Enough to Eat MP3

Read by Patsy Prince - full podcast here

I fell in love with him over pudding. Not dessert. I am not a woman who would eat a dessert. I would desert a dessert. I am a pudding woman. A woman who wields a spoon, not a fork. Forks can fork off.

Things had started well. He had chosen the pork terrine as a starter.  A brave and bold choice.  I like a man who isn’t afraid of a good bit of pork.  He ate it with gusto. I smiled.

ROMANCE & REVENGE, Tue 8th February, 7.30pm

Romance & Revenge was our February fiction night, held at The Phoenix, W1. Six stories of carnal consumption, gift donkeys, morality apps, tender tales of human love in an alien world, foul-mouthed ghosts, vengeful exes and magical lady-gardens. Plus our romance (& revenge)-themed book quiz and FREE Lovehearts for every audience member - all for the heartwarming price of £5.

Podcast here & here: Romance & Revenge Podcast

YouTube playlist here. 

WINNING STORIES FOR ROMANCE & REVENGE

Good Enough to Eat by Helen Morris NEW AUTHOR, read by Patsy Prince

Just Not Cricket by Sophie Bloom, read by Gloria Sanders

Never Look a Gift Donkey in the Mouth by Callum Jacobs, read by Claire Louise Amias

The Welsden Herald Hedge Witch by Liam Hogan, read by Carrie Cohen

Understanding by Hannah Hoare, read by Stephen Butterton

Let there be Tigers by Sara Corris NEW AUTHOR, read by Andrea Hall

Jesús, Mary & Joseph try for a Christmas Orgasm by David McGrath

Read by David McGrath         N.B. CONTENT WARNING FOR SWEARING AND UTTER FILTH .... ENJOY!

When the kids were younger Joseph always turned off the television on a sex scene. The family would then sit in the silence of the sex that wasn’t. And when enough stifling awkwardness had passed, the youngest kid, having guessed an adequate length of time for the sex to finish, would ask his Dad was it OK to turn back on the film? And Joseph would himself guess if an adequate length of time had passed, and maybe say OK, and maybe turn back on the telly. Or maybe say no, that there was plenty of time for watching them dirty auld films when they were older—that it was bedtime.

So Joseph sits with the whole world about to swallow him up. He’s mortified. Sex is not within forty miles of Joseph’s type of conversation. And to sit talking about the female orgasm—Kentucky Fried Christ. He reaches for some hope.

Christmas Special by Rhys Timson

Read by Patsy Prince

"Picture the scene," Henry says, taking a sip of brandy and setting the glass back down. "It's a traditional German Christmas. We see a young mother, blonde hair in braids, fretting over the placement of decorations on the mantelpiece. The tree is up, covered in tinsel, and three or four fair-haired children are running around causing chaos. There's a ring at the door, and our hausfrau rushes to open it, children around her legs screaming Vater! Vater! They open the door, and there’s a man in a long coat, his face obscured by a tower of presents. One by one, the children take the presents down, until we can see him. We can see who it is.’

Henry raises his left eyebrow provocatively. ‘It's Hitler.’

Lucy groans and turns away. Glen pulls a face and looks at his pint of Doom Bar. There is an awkward silence that is swiftly invaded by the noise of the pub’s other patrons. Henry raps his fingers on his glass while Lucy scrunches up her face, unable to form words.

Practically Family by Rosa Muller

Read by Claire Louise Amias

If we were all being honest, none of us expected the nanny to actually stay for Christmas.

One of my bad habits (amongst a few), is letting my mouth run away with itself. James and I had got stuck into slightly more cherry brandy than was strictly necessary, as it was Christmas, although technically it was still November – the 8^th.  When I walked unsteadily past the nanny’s bedroom I heard a low, animalistic howl.

I could hardly ignore it, could I? What if a werewolf had broken in and was savaging the poor girl? Surely I would be failing in my duty of care?

Uhtceara by E. J. Fry

Read by Peter Kenny

Uhtceara: lying awake in the period before dawn and worrying

I lie in the dark and consider the issue of a list. Not a Christmas list, unfortunately – or at least, not that kind. On this list, you would be losing. You would be surprised by that, I think, and that would probably be another entry into the ‘con’ column; your lack of awareness. But I haven’t officially started list-making yet and I shouldn’t admit half-considered entries. Not on a subject of such importance. That would be unfair.

Just a Nice Family Christmas by E. P. Henderson

Read by Lucy Mabbitt

“Who’ll be Mother?” Jess wonders as we flip through her extensive wardrobe.

It’s more of a relief than anything that none of us are seeing our folks again this year – nobody’s exactly family-orientated, and enduring the usual round of resentments, tensions, arguments and passive-aggressive regiftings doesn’t appeal. So Jess, TJ and me are having Friends are Family Christmas in our flat, where nobody can critically examine our lives, question our choices or, crucially, tell us we’re drinking too much.

“Is that a wig?” asks TJ. He extracts a blonde mop, frisking it about on his spread fingers like a permed Muppet.

“Hey,” cries Jess, “my Halloween costume!”

“Sexy Killer Clown wasn’t it?” I remember.

Cocktails & Candy Canes by Pete Armstrong

Read by Tony Bell

"No thank you, I shall carry it myself." Mr Jingle clutches his battered suitcase like Al Capone clutching his gun, or Al Capone's grandfather, perhaps. The young receptionist shrugs and leads him through to the old dressing room, as if he didn't know the way. She waves some lacquered fingernails at a kettle, some teabags, and a mince pie on a chipped plate.

Making sure the door through to the restaurant is unlocked, she flashes a plastic smile and leaves him to it. Back in the day the staff here were a bit more talkative, they checked he had everything he needed, maybe even admired him. But Back In The Day is a long time ago.

Baking Day by Angela Sherlock

Baking Day MP3

Read by Lin Sagovsky

The bank slopes gently to the river so there is no danger for the girls. Mamma has said they may play there while she is gone into Mullinvane but they must not go out upon the ice. She has taken the pony and trap and Dada is away up the fields somewhere, so they have promised to be on their best behaviour.

   But it is not the river bank they want today. That is a summer place, for building dams and fortifications of pebbles. The river bank is for dressing down. Off with the boots and stockings, skirts tucked into knickers. It is for soft silt between the toes and sunlight dancing on the arcs of water they send flashing into the air.