Nuzo Onoh is an award-winning Nigerian-British writer of Igbo descent. She is a pioneer of the African horror literary genre. Hailed as the "Queen of African Horror", Nuzo's writing showcases both the beautiful and horrific in the African culture within fictitious narratives. Nuzo's works have featured in numerous magazines and anthologies, as well as in academic studies. She has given talks and lectures about African Horror, including at the prestigious Miskatonic Institute of Horror Studies, London. She is a Bram Stoker Lifetime Achievement Award recipient. Nuzo holds a Law degree and Masters degree in Writing, both from Warwick University, England. She is a certified Civil Funeral Celebrant, licensed to conduct non-religious burial services. An avid musician with an addiction to JungYup and K-indie, Nuzo plays both the guitar and piano, and holds an NVQ in Digital Music Production. She resides in the West Midlands, United Kingdom.

The Sleepless by Nuzo Onoh

An innocent boy is lured to his death by the one person that should have protected him. Someone knows the truth about his disappearance; his little sister, Obelé, a child who hears a secret voice which tells her terrible things no child should know about. Obelé knows too much and must be killed. Her salvation lies in the hands of her new friends, a group of giggling little girls she meets at an abandoned "cursed house". Except their friendship comes with a terrible price. And suddenly, Obelé starts to ask herself who exactly, or rather, what exactly are her new friends. Worse, how can she free the tormented ghost of her dead brother, trapped by a witchdoctor's curse? Set amidst the Biafran War, The Sleepless follows one child's struggles against both the natural and supernatural forces that threaten to end her life before the deadly enemy bombs can do so. And perhaps, death from the skies is a better option than the terrifying alternative. "The Sleepless" - Another chilling tale about the restless and vengeful dead by the Queen of African Horror, Nuzo Onoh.

 

REVIEWS

  • "In her latest novel, The Sleepless, Nuzo Onoh establishes her position as "The Queen of African Horror" by not just writing a haunting story that is deeply disturbing, but also in so doing, creating a world that is mind boggling, deep, and insightful...If you think that there are no more new stories and creative plot lines, then you must read The Sleepless."

    – African Writer Magazine

  • "The novel grips the reader's attention from the very first pages... weaving in West African folklore and culture to provide something new and out of the ordinary for even the most hardened horror fan... The Sleepless will thrill readers who like their ghost stories to haunt them long after the last page is turned."

    – Love Reading

  • "The Sleepless is a work that continues long after you've finished the last page... The writing is gorgeous, the material astounding and more importantly, it needs to be heard. This is horror writing in service, without preaching, without becoming didactic. That's a humbling accomplishment."

    – Lovecraft Ezine

  • "The Sleepless by Nuzo Ohno has changed me for life. I have NEVER felt the way I did while reading this book, or for days after. I still can't get it out of my head and it's been almost a week."

    – Fang-Freakin-Tastic-Reviews

  • "This is certainly different from any horror story I have read previously...this story is horrific in so many different ways that it will scare you and make you feel totally helpless... Harrowing most of the way, you can expect plenty of creepiness and plenty of horror and mind bending scenes."

    – Confessions of A Reviewer
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Papa broke off, his words suspended in the air. He stared towards the witchdoctor, beyond the witchdoctor, his eyes goggled. His hand on her mouth dropped and the hand holding her arm went slack. She stumbled away, following the direction of Papa's eyes, his pointing finger.

The Dibia turned to look. Two great black Mambas were slithering towards them from the tree next to the caged cats. Their movement was fast, their intention clear. Death glinted in their twin mercurial slits.

She froze, struck with terror. Of all God's creatures in the world, nothing petrified her as much as snakes, not even cats. She would choose a hundred strokes of Papa's Utali, whip, any day over the sight of the tiniest snake. The two snakes slithering with incredible speed towards the Dibia were huge, gigantic.

The Dibia screamed and turned to run. He made it to the entrance of his hut and stopped, horror coating his face. Obelé saw what the witchdoctor saw, what Papa and Abundance saw; The Ghost Girls, beautiful in their scaly nakedness, their shiny skin as grey as ash, green eyes glowing in the night, sharp teeth white as death! This time they came in their multitudes, in their tens. They lit up the night with their spectral glow, illuminating everything with terrifying clarity. In blinks, they blocked the entrance to the hut, giggling, laughing. Water dripped from their skin, forming a steady stream that flowed into the hut. In seconds, the compound was transformed into a swamp. The buried cats howled as water covered their heads. The Ghost Girls giggled louder at the plight of the cats.

The Dibia stumbled back, slipping on muddy water, dropping the cat and his machete. The cat scuttled away with a loud yowl. The giggling wraiths advanced towards the Dibia, their movement fluid, ghastly. A phosphorous glow followed them like a bright shadow, a hovering cloak of brilliance. Some of them crawled, their arms like crabs, even spiders. Others flew, floating around the Dibia, hovering over his head like birds of prey. Soon, they formed a ring around him and began to dance. She knew what would follow; the circle of torment. She had witnessed that ghastly ritual multiple times inside the drenched bedroom of Ike Okoye's cursed house. Except the victims then were ghosts. This time, it was a living victim. She steeled herself for what she knew was coming.

The Ghost Girls began singing the familiar tune, The Sleepless song. Their voices echoed in the forest, disincarnate, chilling. They pulled the Dibia's hair and bit into his skin, staining their fanged teeth red. They carved deep marks deep into his skin, their claw-like fingers wet with his blood. Nails, stones, sticks and broken glasses drew patterns of agony across the medicine-man's body. The little spectre, Promise, she of the Nwa mulu-amu fame, reached out and snapped the carved cat charm from the old man's neck. The witchdoctor shrieked, arms flailing, trying to ward them off, slicing through empty air. He fell to the ground, next to the three buried cats, babbling, incoherent with terror. The girls giggled, their laughter gleeful, chilling.

Abundance screamed and ran towards Papa. She didn't make it. The Mambas struck, felling her to the ground. Their fangs sank into Abundance's legs, dosing her up with their killing venom. Twin assassins, they plunged a rapid succession of bites, their movements aggressive, swift and deadly. Abundance screamed, scrambling on hands and knees towards Papa, who was rooted to his spot like a stone statue. The Mambas raised their heads and struck again, this time on Abundance's naked thighs and arms. Over and over, their heads dived, piercing her skin, dumping more lethal venom into her bloodstream.

Abundance's movements grew sluggish, heavy, tortured. Terror and pain glazed her pupils. She opened her mouth and Obelé gasped, staggering back. A black protrusion that was once a tongue, crawled from Abundance's mouth, the size of an orange, swollen beyond reality. She struggled to speak, but all that came out was a low grunt. Abundance began frothing, her mouth covered in thick white foam. Her arms and knees collapsed underneath her as she lay twitching, convulsing like the epileptic boy in Obelé's classroom, the one they called Ike Nwanyi, because he trembled like a fat woman's buttocks when the sickness hit him.

The Mambas raised their great heads and stared at Papa. They looked at him with deadly intelligence, the way a human would look at another, enemy to enemy. Then they turned and slithered back into the forest, leaving the dying body of Abundance by Papa's feet.

The exit of the snakes seemed to send a secret signal to the Ghost Girls. They broke their circle of torment and abandoned the witchdoctor on the water-logged ground of his compound. They flitted towards Papa, who looked as if he was about to die like Abundance. Papa stumbled back, turning to flee.

The wraiths were in front of him, their eerie light illuminating the night. He screamed and turned a different direction. They blocked his escape. Each way Papa turned, the Ghost Girls awaited him, their scaly faces cold, their giggles gone. Obelé had never seen them look so icy… so dead. Soon, they started forming the familiar circle around Papa. The Sleepless song returned to their lips.