Liars' League

Never Goes Out by Sophie Bloom

Read by Patsy Prince (final story in podcast, here)

How to put this?

I was looking for a flat, and then I found a flat and Heaven knows … that didn’t go so well. 2019 hadn’t been a great year anyway. First I lost my job, then my dog died, then my boyfriend left me for a woman who was literally called Jolene. I know it sounds like a country song, but that was the actual order of events. And the worst thing was that our shared flat in Vauxhall actually belonged to my now-ex, Johnny, so I had to move out. Except I couldn’t afford to live in London any more because I’d lost my zero-hours contract at HMV.

I had six months’ worth of savings and no interest in living, so I decided to move back to Manchester to make the misery last. I slept too much, ate too little, took up smoking and made endless cups of tea which went cold while I stared emptily at the grey Moss Side rain. Apart from that, I pretty much wasted my time. The dodgy-looking middle-aged guy I sublet the flat from turned up to take the deposit and give me the keys, then instantly ghosted me. Which was ironic, given what followed.

The Burning Boys by Jon Hayes

Read by Zach Harrison (fourth story in podcast, here)

There’s a small town buried in the Californian desert where boredom can be fatal. Maybe ten thousand people total live there, battling the constant enemies of hundred degree heat, dust that clogs and chokes everything in sight, and a landscape that runs from rust coloured to burnt umber with nothing much in between. The locals refer to it as ‘shit-town’ and I can’t say they’re wrong. There’s not much you can do about the heat or dust, but the local kids do have a unique cure for the boredom.

During the week it’s quiet because there’s nothing much to do but get in each other’s business in a half-hearted sort of way and work on your car. But as Friday night approaches the teenagers start to get jittery and ornery like a junkie itching for a fix, and arguments spark over nothing at all. No one talks about it, but what they’re all feeling is that loose, liquid sensation you get the in the pit of your stomach when you get too close to the edge of a canyon, and dare yourself to peek.

An Esteemed Family Business by Sarah McDermott

Read by Rich Keeble (third story in podcast, here)

Memorandum from the desk of James Andrews, junior filing clerk at Mitchell, Sons and Candy, solicitors. Dated 25 September, 1896.

Dear Mr. Candy,

As I was reviewing the quarterly files, I couldn’t help but notice that one of our clients — a Mr Dracula — has bought five or six crumbling old houses in and around London.

Some of these properties have been on our books since Mitchell, Sons and Candy was merely Mitchell and Sons. They must be in a dreadful state of disrepair. Surely we could have found him a more suitable range of properties to invest in! Are the firm’s partners aware of this curious transaction?

Your humble servant,

James Andrews

An Odd Fish by Lisa Farrell

Read by Josie Charles (podcast here, first story)

My man went with the rest, down to the sea. To mended nets and patched boats, and stories of the night before. The sun was bright, so they strode bare to the waist, muscles flexing as they pushed their crafts into the foam, laughing at each other’s jokes.

The children went too, clambering sure-footed and long-legged over the rocks towards the cliffs, to see what treasures the waves had deposited in the rockpools. The braver ones might climb those cliffs or dive into the sea for pearls, their mothers scolding and praising those that returned with a prize.

I retreated into the cool shade of the trees, while the other women set to their work at the river, gossiping as they scrubbed the scales from yesterday’s catch, leaving flesh raw. I cradled useless hands inside long sleeves, and hung my head as I passed the others, their gazes slipping over me. Pity is a terrible mercy, so easily it gives way to something worse. My husband’s sisters bore the brunt of my work, when my wrists swelled and fingers stiffened.

New Tongues by Cassidy Phillips

Read by Peter Kenny (second story in podcast, here)

It is not true to say that the dead have come back. That it has been said – and shall no doubt continue to be said among the “panicking classes” – is regrettable, but also rather inevitable. Such pronouncements have a certain romantic appeal, after all, and that is the cornerstone of any good naive theory. However, these claims are founded on a series of culture-bound misunderstandings which necessarily distort our perception of the matter at hand. Cultural baggage cannot help us here: this is not an occurrence which can be understood by appealing to our knowledge of lurid comics, holy books or late-night movies. It is nothing so easy to digest.

The first and most common misapprehension is the assumption that we are discussing some kind of new and heretofore undocumented condition. We are not. The fact of the matter is that said condition has been known of for some time, but it is so slight a thing that most members of society shall not have encountered it.

Those whose work brings them into contact with cadavers, however – cadavers in their natural, non-sanitised state – have been reporting this phenomenon since the early 1960s. It is something which is to some extent familiar to paramedics, morticians, hospital orderlies, care home workers, police officers, even end-of-life counsellors, but which taboo and common courtesy dictate is not discussed outside of these professions.

 

Wetico by Jennifer Gaboury

Read by Katy Darby (fifth story in podcast, here)

“In our language we have this word ‘wetico’ which means cannibal: one who eats not literally the flesh and blood of another, but who eats the life of another”

– Jack Davis, Professor of Native American Studies, University of California.

The wire quivers, the wrists and ankles flick, the head jerks upright, the arms rise, the legs dance. The string winds round the world, conducting ten billion bodies and me. Black holes open in our palms; a thin blue line manifests where our mouths used to be. We no longer speak. We reach, we eat. Consumption consumes us. But didn’t it always?

She doesn’t look at me when she groans through stitched lips. Her ghosted eyes rove over racks of clothes as she pulls down ten articles at a time, the tongues of her palms slavering over the fabrics, the teeth in her hands cribbing the hangers. When I rub my hands down my jumper and jeans, the drool forms a hoarfrost-sort of lacquer, like a dry hound-lick. I’ve spotted designer boots. I leave her swimming in a pile of cashmere cardies.

Hallowe'en event: TOIL & TROUBLE, Tue 8th October

Double double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble ...

We grave-robbed six terrifying tales for our TOIL & TROUBLE pre-Hallowe'en special on Tuesday 8th October at The Phoenix. These brand-new short stories, read by our professional actors, featured spiritual cannibalism, lovelorn witches, talking corpses, ghosts on fire, Dracula's estate agent, and the shade of a post-punk icon ...

WINNING STORIES for TOIL & TROUBLE

Wetico by Jennifer Gaboury, read by Keleigh Wolf

New Tongues by Cassidy Phillips, read by Peter Kenny

An Esteemed Family Business by Sarah McDermott, read by Rich Keeble

The Burning Boys by Jon Hayes, read by Zach Harrison 

An Odd Fish by Lisa Farrell, read by Josie Charles

Never Goes Out by Sophie Bloom, read by Patsy Prince 

Doors open at 7pm for a 7.30 start and tickets are £5 on the door (currently cash only, sorry, but there's a cashpoint 2 minutes away). Entry includes a programme, participation in our infamous book quiz where terrific horror fiction can be won, and of course all the sweets and candy you can eat. Drinks and food are available at the bar throughout. 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's no lift, sadly. The Phoenix is 5 minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines