Fran Friel is that sweet lady who always bakes the cookies and brings them to work. She’s the kindly neighbor who you trust to babysit your child in an emergency. She’s the friend you give your spare house key to, granting her potential access to your personal privates.

She’s also the lady that wrote horrifying gems like “Gravy,” “Mama’s Boy,” and “The Sea Orphan.” She’s now a twice-nominated Stoker nominee and a favorite around the Apex offices.

JS: Fran Friel, multi-Stoker Award-nominated author. How many more Stoker nominations do you have in you?

FF: Just a minute—I’ll be right back.

Okay, I’ve checked the Stoker Nomination Tank and it read, FULL. I guess that means I might have a couple more in me. Let’s hope so, but of course it’s all up to the HWA readers and what takes their fancy.

I’m thrilled that they enjoyed the collection, and it’s a huge honor to be included in the collection category this year. Being in the company of King, Burke, Strand and Langan is marvelous, if not a bit intimidating. Perhaps someday I’ll break away from, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” Those chiffon dresses are nice, but dang, a little haunted house sure would be a sweet addition to my ensemble.

JS: What’s your favorite story in Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales (and why)?

FF: Jeesh, that’s asking me to choose my favorite child. What if they read this? Well, truth is, I love them all. I’ve gotten to the point that I don’t write a story unless it sparks a feeling in me, in my gut or my heart. It’s got to have that zing, the thing that makes me want to discover what the story is really about.

For example, “Beach of Dreams” came to me in a powerful image—prone lifeless giants on a dark stormy beach. How could I not explore that? I had to know what those bodies were and where they came from. It was actually a hard story to unearth, like teasing out a knot in a delicate chain, but I love where it took me.

The same thing happened with “The Sea Orphan.” I got an image of a long woolen coat draped over an old sea chest. That one struck me right in the heart and I knew I wanted to know this story. When the tale began to unfold to me, young Will Pennycock’s life broke my heart. He was a brave and tender character whom I’ll always remember (and perhaps write more about, as a few readers have requested).

So yes, I love them all, even the loathsome ones like Frank in “Mama’s Boy.” Oddly enough, the darkest characters are often the ones who teach me the most about myself and about my work.

JS: I know I’ve teased you about this in the past…but what does your daughter/husband/friends say to you after reading one of your stories like “Mama’s Boy” or “Gravy”? That’s some rather intense stuff coming from such a sweet person!

FF: Thank you for the compliment, Jason. Well, I guess some people try to get in touch with their sensitive side. Fortunately, that’s always been there for me, but I suppose writing has helped me get in touch with my darker side. Balance is a good thing, don’t you think? *wink*

As for my family, my sweet husband is a gentle soul but he’s Scottish by birth, so he’s a bit twisted naturally. Hence, he’s unfazed by my work and, in fact, often suggests that my writing is too sentimental or needs more edge. He actually has great instincts and he’s my harshest critic, so if my work passes his muster, it’s usually met well by my readers. Truth is, the guy should be writing. He has brilliant ideas of his own.

My daughter is 21 now and she apparently likes my stories, but she’s not quick to share them with her friends. I can’t imagine why. *grins* The rest of my family has been supportive, if a little baffled by my dark bent.

Before I began writing seriously, I was a holistic therapist in private practice for 16 years. A few of my colleagues from that era of my life have been a little shocked by some of my subject matter, concerned that I’m bringing darkness into the world. To tell you the truth, I’ve struggled with that a little bit, but eventually I realized that I’m not bringing darkness, I’m uncovering what’s already there, giving it a face and hopefully shining a little light into the corners. And frankly, writing horror and dark fantasy has made me a better writer—a braver writer—allowing me to go where the story and the characters really need to go.

JS: I get a lot of comments about the cover art to Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales (the ol’ finger in a bag). Kids will come up to me at conventions and say “Ew, why is there a finger in a bag?” What inspired this imagery?

FF: One of my favorite parts of the publishing process for Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales was working with Billy Tackett. He’s a huge talent and real joy to work with. We tossed around a number of ideas from strong imagery in my stories. We decided to stick with images from the title story, “Mama’s Boy”—a buck knife, lipstick, a pink rose, etc. Billy did a number of rough sketches and we finally landed on the image of the finger in the baggie (from one of the main character’s “hobbies”).

I also liked the idea of the rose, because it feminized the cover a bit (after all, I am a girl) and it added the contrast of Frank’s imagined sweetness and his horrific reality. Both images were a good challenge for Billy. Conveying a transparent item like a baggie is hard to do in a painting, but he did an absolutely stunning job. He also told me that his mom had been after him for years to paint flowers (something a little less dark), but he’d never done it, so I’m honored to be the recipient of Billy’s first rose painting, and a gorgeous rose at that.

JS: You’re trapped in an elevator with an easily spooked elderly lady, but you want to sell her on your book. What’s your pitch?

FF: “I know you’re very tired, Mrs. Crabapple, but like I said, if you buy a case of my books, I’ll let go of the Emergency Stop button so you can return home to Mister Fluffy.”

You can get Fran Friel’s Stoker-nominated Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales from the Apex Online Shop. She maintains a website at www.franfriel.com.

Fran Friel’s collection of short, dark fiction, MAMA’S BOY AND OTHER DARK TALES, has been listed among some of the best-of-the-best for 2009 fantastical fiction! The British Fantasy Society has just put up its longlist for the British Fantasy Awards, and Fran Friel is among those listed for the best short fiction collection. See her listed here, as well as check out the other nominations in other categories! 

If you’re part of the BFS or Fantasycon 2008 or 2009, make sure to vote for your favorites of this year!

Read “Under the Dryer” from MAMA’S BOY by Fran Friel.

Congratulations to Fran Friel for earning her second career Stoker Award nomination. Her Apex collection, Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales, received a nod for Superior Achievement in a Collection.

This is the second major award nomination for Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales (Fran’s book won the Black Quill Award for Best Dark Genre Collection).

The winners will be announced at a banquet held during this year’s Stoker Awards Weekend, June 12-14 at the Burbank Marriott Hotel, near Los Angeles.

SciFiWire.com has a complete list of nominees here.

Bret Jordan over at Monster Librarian has just posted a review of Fran Friel’s MAMA’S BOY AND OTHER DARK TALES! 

“The diversity of the stories within is amazing. Each tale takes the reader down a twisted, dark road that sticks in the mind long after the book has been put down. The stories are varied not only in their telling, but also in length- they range from flash fiction to novella. Each story grasps the reader by the throat and doesn’t let go. ” Read the rest of the review here!

And make sure to get a taste of Ms. Friel’s sinister style by reading “Under the Dryer” for free!

Three of our books have made the preliminary ballot. Congratulations to the following…

Non-Fiction:
Beauty & Dynamite by Alethea Kontis

Collection:
Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel

Long Fiction:
Orgy of Souls by Wrath James White and Maurice Broaddus

Apex is happy to make physical (or PDF copies) of these books to Active HWA members’ request for Stoker consideration. Email Jason Sizemore at jason@apexdigest.com.

Here’s a fascinating interview with Fran Friel by Greg Lamberson of FearZone.com.

Favorite part: When Fran is talking about her experience participating in the Gross Out Contest at WHC 07…

“And if you’ll remember, the judges were Chris Golden, Tim Lebbon and Joe Lansdale and later that night somebody told me that Joe’s beautiful daughter, Kasey, was there as well and she kept looking at me strangely as I read my story and was later heard to say, “That woman’s not right.” I was oddly proud when I heard that–which I suppose makes Kasey absolutely correct in her observation.”

John Hornor Jacobs* recorded Fran Friel reading “Gravy Pursuits” from her Apex collection Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales. It’s a gross, creepy story. Enjoy!

Part 1 (6 minutes long)

Part 2 (2 minutes long)

*edited to fix the spelling on John’s name. Sorry about that, John.

I tried to warn them, but the humans wouldn’t listen and the cats just taunted me.

The faint paw prints in the dust were the first sign. I started sniffing out the cause and became alarmed at my findings. The great mastiff, Old Sam, my sire’s brother, warned me about such things, but I never thought I would see them for myself. I stayed with Sam’s family whenever my humans went away, and at night in the dark when the masters were asleep, he would whisper the old secrets.

“Nowadays it’s just considered Dog Lore, boy,” he would say in his deep growly voice. “But believe you me, these things can still happen. And it’s the forgettin’ that gives ‘em power. Promise me, boy, no matter what they tell ya’, you remember the truth. It’s your sacred duty.”

I promised him, of course. And later I tried to tell my friends at the park about my talks with Old Sam. They laughed at me and told me he was an old dog, and those were just stupid stories. The Doberman twins teased me about it so much one day that I lost my temper. One of them ended up at the vet – served him right. I got banned from the park.

But I never forgot Old Sam’s stories, and as the danger to my masters grew, I kept my word. He was long gone when the trouble started, but I knew I couldn’t let him down – it was my duty.

At first the furry Long Ears were confined to the space beneath the bed in Ashley’s room – no chance of discovery by the humans amidst the teenager’s detritus. I paced outside her door, but the silly girl wouldn’t let me in.

“Get away from my door, you stupid dog,” she said, followed by her favorite whine. “Mom! Goliath’s going to mess up my room.” As if I could make it any worse.

One of the cats arrived and curled around the Ashley’s ankles. She sneered at me as she picked it up for a cuddle. The cat grinned its smug grin as the girl carried her off into the room, slamming the door in my face. The cat would live to regret her preferred status.

The unseen fiends seemed emboldened by my banishment, and their infestation spread down the hall. Their numbers were multiplying, as their kind was destined to do.

As my concern escalated, my mistress caught me digging and scratching under the boy’s bed – apparently I damaged the finish on the hardwood floor. She gave me a stern warning and sent me to the laundry room for punishment. It was there I discovered the nest – it was under the dryer. I heard their dusty voices and the sounds of hopping before they detected my presence. At that moment, I decided, if need be I would stand guard there for the rest of my days. I would not allow the evil to spread and harm my family. I had to stop Dust Bunnies.

Day after day and night after night, I held vigil in the laundry room. On one the cats stopped by, as usual to mock my efforts.

“You lummox,” she said as she passed by the door with her fluffy groomed tail held high.

She circled back and lingered, rubbing against the doorjamb.

“Goliath’s the big hero – guarding the dirty underwear. Oh, I do feel ever so much safer now.” She walked away with a dismissive glance over her shoulder.

“Loser!”

Eventually the furry devils beneath the dryer became restless – I was thwarting their plans. If I nodded off for even a moment, they darted out to pluck my whiskers or poke me with sharp objects. I thought if I could only hold out long enough, perhaps they would tire of waiting and leave through the dryer vent, then my humans would be safe. But my masters worried that I wasn’t eating so they brought dishes of kibble and water to my stronghold. I tried to resist but eventually they coaxed me from the laundry room to relieve myself, and the determined little beasts started to plan their operations around my forced relief schedule. They ducked out while I was gone to spill my water dish and prove to me they were on the move and winning the war.

Finally, I refused to leave my fortress. I had to protect my family. They didn’t understand the danger they were facing. Unable to hold my bladder any longer, I soiled the floor. My master’s patience was already growing thin with my laundry room vigil, but the soiling completely destroyed my credibility.

My master hurled threats of the pound, as he dragged me from the laundry room. I strained and pulled at my collar as he tore me away from the only safety I could ensure the family. I whimpered as the voices giggled and chittered and chided me from under the dryer. My master forced me to the front door and threw me outside into the yard.

“Maybe a night alone in the cold will sort you out, Goliath.”

I was frantic. I barked and clawed at the door. As the lights went out for the night, I howled in wretched fear for my family. If only I could make them listen, get them to let me back inside the house.

But no one came to the door, instead they shouted from the upstairs window.

“You’re going to the pound tomorrow! That’s it! Now, SHUT UP!”

I lowered my head, and dropped my ears. I silenced my sorrowful howls. Wandering around to the deck at the back of the house, I peered through the sliding glass doors, hoping I could at least keep watch from there.

For hours nothing happened. A tentative relief came over me. Perhaps all the threats from the dusty nest were hollow. Maybe my family was safe after all. The moon washed over me in the chilly night. I was weary, and I stretched out on my stomach and rested my muzzle on my paws so I could keep watch through the big glass doors. Soon all the stress and burden of the last few weeks came over me. My eyelids felt like stones, and finally I fell into a deep sleep.

As I slept, I dreamed good dog dreams of running with the boy in the green grass of the yard and fetching my yellow tennis ball. My master looked on with pride, and scratched behind my ears when I came to show him my ball.

“Good boy, Goliath. You are the best dog a family could ever have.”

My heart soared with joy and love for my humans. I would give my life for them.

Tap, Tap, Tap. The sound roused me from my dream, and I felt the cold night air in my bones and the frosted dew on my nose. Tap, Tap, Tap. I opened my eyes to the sight of hundreds of the dusty little long-eared fiends on the other side of the glass doors. They were each holding a weapon; the one tapping on the glass was grinning a long-toothed grin and wielding a meat clever from the kitchen above his scraggly cockeyed ears. Several of the others waved their paws at me, bouncing up and down on their mutant bunny hind feet. A procession passed in front of the door, at least twenty of the dirty beasts danced by, carrying a half-bald cat, legs tied to a broomstick like a pig ready for the spit. The cat’s once pink tongue lolled bloody from her mouth. As they paraded by, whiskers twitching, I could hear their wicked laughter through the door.

I leapt to my feet and barked with all my might, and something hit the glass with a splatter. It stuck to the window in a red sticky mass. As it began its smeary slide down the glass, I could see it was a human ear. I was too late.

In a panic, I barked and pounded my heavy paws against the glass door, but the little beasts turned their backs and shook their dusty cotton tails at me. Through the doorway across the room, I could see hundreds of them dragging a body down the stairs, like grimy-furred Lilliputians. I pounced at the doors, throwing the entire weight of my Mastiff body at the glass – the frame cracked and splintered. I barked and howled and continued to hurl myself against the glass until the wood around the door finally gave way. The doors caved in and the glass shattered on the hardwood floor, destroying the little fiends that hadn’t managed to scatter.

Oblivious to my bloodied paws, I raced across the broken glass and into the living room, heading straight for the stairs and the dusty rodents that were still dragging my unconscious master. They turned and attacked, hacking at my paws with knives and scissors, jumping on my back and stabbing me with ice picks and steak knives, but I bit and I ripped and tore at them until their tiny bodies were strewn like rag dolls motionless around the room. Badly bleeding, I padded quickly to my Master’s side in hopes he was still alive. The gaping hole in the side of his head where his ear had been, oozed with thick dark blood. I drew my tongue gently across his cheek. I could feel his warmth – he was still alive. I licked him again, and his eyes fluttered open.

With relief he looked into my face and whispered, “Goliath.” Then his eyes widened and shone with terror. “Upstairs, boy. Get them!” he rasped.

I bounded up the steps to save the others. The master’s bedroom looked like a massacre –my mistress’s body hung limp over the side of the bed, bloodied and shredded. I ran ahead to my boy’s closed door, relieved when all there seemed quiet. Suddenly, shrieks sounded from the teenager’s room. A wet trail of red paw prints led to her open door. As I burst into the room, I saw hundreds of the beasts swarming over the floor and around a fluffy feline mass at the foot of the bed. Some of the fiends had broken away from the pack and were beginning their climb up the bedspread. The terrified girl was huddled against the headboard, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Goliath, they’re eating the cat! “Help me!” she whimpered through snot and tears. Please….”

I leapt into action mauling and trampling the Long Tooths, but there were so many of them. They swarmed over my body, ripping and tearing at my ears, slicing into my flesh with their house hold weapons and their razor-claws.

As I felt my strength ebbing with the loss of blood, to my horror, I noticed little Teddy standing wide-eyed and frozen in the doorway. I barked a warning and lumbered behind the bed, trying to distract the Long Tooths from the boy. Flailing my head around, I flung the beasts into the air, and as I drew the mass of fiends away from the door, Ashley made a run for it, grabbing Teddy by the hand. For just a moment she glanced back at me, her face streaked with tears; then the two of them disappeared, leaving me alone with the horde. With great relief, I heard the children running down the stairs.

I struggled to survive, but the fiends kept coming. The blood loss and the pain of my torn flesh was draining me of strength, but I knew the longer I distracted the dark rodents, the more hopeful I was that my family would escape with their lives.

Howling my final battle cry, as my ancestors would have done, I reared up on my hind legs, and tossed the beasts from my back. Coming down hard, I hammered them with my paws again and again, trampling their wicked bodies. I gnashed with my still powerful jaws – the taste of their bodies sickening, their black blood spilling from my muzzle as I continued my assault.

Long painful moments passed during the battle, how many I’m not sure, but I sensed the house was finally vacant of my humans. Bone weary and staggering with dizziness, I stumbled with the weight of the next wave of the Long Tooths’ attack. Taking advantage of my weakness, the rabid beasts dragged me to the floor. Snarling and drooling they blinded me with their claws. As if from far away, I heard unfamiliar voices, shouts, the popping of gunfire.

My body failed me, and I could no longer struggle. As my pain passed away from my awareness, my thoughts wandered to the ancient Mastiff Lore and Old Sam; I knew he would be proud. Entrusted with the sacred duty, I had saved my family from the old evil – from the Long Tooths.

END

Fran Friel is a full-time writer and part-time slave to a band of domestic animal masters. She spends quality time with her husband pretending they live in Maui. Living in Connecticut, this pretending requires a vivid imagination, which brings us back to the writing.

Fran’s writing has won competitions at The Horror Library and Lamoille Lamentations, and has appeared in print and online at The Horror Library, Insidious Reflections, Wicked Karnival, The Lightning Journal and Dark Recesses Press.

Fran’s novella, Mama’s Boy, released by Insidious Publications in 2006, was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award in Long Fiction. A collection of her short stories, including Mama’s Boy will be published in Spring 2008 by Apex Book Company.

You can visit Fran at www.FranFriel.com.

Order Fran Friel’s collection Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales from Apex Publications.