PreOrder Now: "The Fake Ghost," by: Nuzo Onoh

 Hi everyone. Today I am featuring Nuzo Onoh's upcoming release "The Fake Ghost." Check out all the details and the sneak peek below. Make sure to preorder your copy to have the book sent directly to your e-reader on release day. Happy reading :).

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A supernatural thriller of vengeance and occultic magic. 

A powerful American leader is reborn as a black child in an African hut.

The Fake Ghost

by: Nuzo Onoh

Genre: Supernatural Horror, Magical Realism

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GOODREADS

Life isn’t fair. Why don’t I have a real dad like President King? He couldn’t ever imagine the president raising a fist or a belt to his daughter. 

“Anyways, if things work out swell, you’ll soon be visiting the Big Apple or any one of our marvellous states. We’ve got fifty-four states since we split Texas and California into two. America is now the greatest, and you, lucky boy, are now speaking with the ruler of the entire damn world—”

“China is the new ruler since—”

“Fuck China!” The president snarled. “I’m the most important guy in Terra Firma. Hell! Even aliens from Mars speak with me, and I ain’t kidding you.”

POTUS’ eyes widened into saucers. “No way! Your Excellency, you’ve actually seen real aliens, like in the films, Liberation Night and Independence Day and Women in Green and Men in Black. Real mothership aliens?”

President King preened, chest all puffed out, a grim smile on his face. “Yep. This is top secret, right? I’m not supposed to tell that we got aliens running wild amongst us, but take it from me, there are loads of them and—”

“Are there any aliens that are famous?” POTUS cut in, his heart thudding with excitement—Oh my God! Just wait till I tell Frankie. Mega wicked!

“Sure. Listen, promise you won’t tell, right? Swear on your life, and I’ll give you a coupla names.”

“I swear on my life,” POTUS crossed his heart feverishly. His love affair with sci-fi was only second to his boxing reruns on archive hologram channel.

“Okay. You know the actor guy, Tom Cruise? Yep! He’s one of the Martians.”

“No way! Tom Cruise?” POTUS’ ears were literally burning—Tom Cruise is an alien! Oh my God! 

“Yep! Ever ask yourself how come he does all his own stunts despite his age? I mean, the guy’s older than me in human years, right? Last time I checked, he was almost seventy years old, and he’s still scaling walls and jumping parachutes and driving cars over cliffs. Hell! It’s even rumoured the guy never bleeds, never sleeps, and never been sick either. Now, who wouldn’t want that kinda power, right? A real charmer and superman, literally,” the president shook his head, his eyes glittering with admiration. POTUS could tell he liked alien Tom Cruise a lot. 

“Are there women aliens too, Your Excellency?” 

“Sure thing. The singer broad, Taylor Swift. Yep. Little green girl, I’m afraid. Psycho-bitch is a cloner and can split herself into thirteen alien Taylors, ensuring she has enough of herself to wreak chaos on humanity whenever she wants. Why do you think she always wears those creepy number 13 earrings? The alien bitch claims she was born on the 13th of the month and turned 13 years on a Friday the 13th, but we know who her real parents are and trust me, they ain’t humans; alien mummy and daddy, just like their spawn. As I said, that psycho bird is the mistress of chaos. She can sow anarchy, cause riots, and destruction just by showing her friggin’ face and opening her big mouth to spout garbage. And boom! Instantly, humanity turns into crazy zombies; wild, rabid squad dogs who just want to cancel out everyone without having a friggin’ idea why they’re doing it. And she has thirteen clones to help her sew unrest around the world. Most times you see her having a concert in different countries, it’s actually one of her thirteen alien clones performing. But as I said, this is top secret, got it? Just between the two of us, right?”

“Right,” POTUS nodded. He was so relieved Rihanna wasn’t amongst the named aliens. It would’ve killed him if his all-time celebrity crush was one of the little green people from Mars. She might be older now, but he still had endless hologram recordings of her in her hay days to feed his besotted eyes. 

Something niggled him.

“Your Excellency, are all the aliens white people, or do we have any black aliens too?”

President King barked a grim laugh. “Sure thing. We got loads of black aliens, even yellow ones. They hold annual Alien Zoom meetings to catch up with their alien stuff. I hear Will Smith’s been begging them to let him into the meetings but they keep voting him out. I reckon the alien motherfuckers think he has too many lethal Men in Black anti-alien arsenals. So, they don’t trust him and who can blame them? Mind you, Will’s no alien, but the fashion designer guy that used to be a singer, Pharrell Williams, and the F1 champion, Sir Lewis Hamilton…” he paused and nodded grimly as POTUS’ eyes goggled. “Yep! Sorry to disappoint you, kiddo, but they’re both little green men too. Not forgetting the Korean megastar singer, Taemin. That guy doesn’t even need to hide the fact that he’s an alien. He looks like one and moves like one. Little wonder they call him the reincarnated Michael Jackson, who was another alien freak, by the way. Yeah, these alien fuckers have got their people practically in every country, although we have the most in America. I’m guessing Martians know a quality country when they see one. Fuck China!” The president glided closer till he was practically whispering. “You see, they send them down with special powers. The aliens we gotta fear are the singers and the drivers.”

President King caught the stunned look on POTUS’ face and nodded again with that hard smile that POTUS was starting to admire. It was a smile of power, of strength, of knowledge and ruthlessness. It was the kind of smile that said the president had the aliens well sourced and could handle them with ruthless ease.

BLURB:

A dark farce and a supernatural thriller of rebirth, betrayal, vengeance, occultic magic, mysterious invocations and creepy rituals–from Nuzo Onoh, recipient of the Bram Stoker Award for Lifetime Achievement and “the Queen of African Horror.”

Set both in Nigeria and the USA, The Fake Ghost follows the whacky and sinister travails of the President of the United States, reborn as a black child in a tiny African hut. As the child grows, he insists on being called POTUS and hears disturbing voices in his head that often cause him to be cruel and selfish. Until one day an accident separates the linked souls. With the help of a medicine-man, the president must find a way to free his trapped soul and return to the United States to prevent a dastardly political plot against him. But first, he must enter a diabolical blood pact, which might return to haunt him with devastating consequences.

"Sometimes shocking, fantastical and hilarious, but also tinged with hope, this ghost will haunt you long after the final page." —Tim Lebbon, author of The Last Storm

**Releases Aug 12, 2025!**

AMAZON | APPLE | B&N | INDIGO.CA | DEADSKY PUBLISHING

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Nuzo Onoh

Nuzo Onoh is an award-winning Nigerian-British writer of speculative fiction 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, podcasts 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.

Follow Nuzo at the Following Links:

LINKTREE | BLUESKY | SUBSTACK | BOOKBUB | AMAZON | GOODREADS

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Book Bites....with a side of coffee

Weekly Update with a Spice of a Chapter Reveal!

 Hello friends!!

I hope everyone is doing well. I am absolutely exhausted! No proper sleep to be had over the past week and a half, but it’s not unusual. I have a loud brain. I’m sure many of you can relate!

We are awaiting a new little member of our family. Her name is Fleur and I cannot wait to meet her. Her poor mamma is ready to get on with it, too! And of course, dad and the cutest little big sister that will have ever graced this planet, Willow, are very excited, as well. So that is pretty exciting for us.

Anyway, I thought that today I’d share a little of the first chapter of one story I’m working on. Right now it’s just called Ghost Story, but that is only because I do not have a title in mind. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter One

Tick... tick... tick... tick... the ticking of the clock beats like a steady drum, permeating through my brain. The ghost of the blood that once ran through me and a beat where my now shriveled heart once pumped, plump and full of life. Tick... tick... tick... the sounds grows louder in my ears. But all the while it sits.

Still in the corner of my room. At first, maybe a shadow? But as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see it. What the hell is it? A shadow is a dark black void. But this? This is the opposite. It’s a solid white mass. A structural being. Watching me. But how? It has no eyes, but somehow I know it sees me.

With each tick of the clock, a slight turn of its head. But otherwise it never seems to move. Except for one other thing. Every day, it seems like it gets a little closer. Always in the same spot, but somehow, closer. Nothing has terrified me more. But every night it’s here.

I feel like I haven’t slept in years, not properly anyway. A few minutes here and there. My head is always hurting, and I feel like I’m constantly on edge. Every little noise makes me jump. I know this thing is out to get me, but my friends, my husband. They insist it isn’t real.

Two weeks ago, I had enough and scheduled an appointment with a psychologist, Dr. Joyce Lemon. I chose her because her named sounded happy. A feeling I can hardly remember, but enough so that I know that I’d like to experience it again.

I sat on the floral sofa, across from a tall brunette woman with a vacant smile and a notepad in her hands. She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain myself. Wanting me to explain to her why I was here. In her particular office, on this particular Tuesday morning. I fidgeted with the hem of my dress, shifting uncomfortably, wondering where to start. I am going to sound crazy, I just know it.

But then, maybe I am crazy, right? The things I’ve seen and experienced that aren’t real. Is it? The woman leans forward in her chair. This time she makes actual eye contact. My thoughts race. I’m just so worried about telling anyone these things. But this is something I’ve been dealing with for forty-two years of my life. Since I was a child. It’s something generational and horrific. It’s something that I fear can get me taken away from my husband, my children, and I fear I’d be locked away in a state psychiatric center.

“Rose, You know I’m here to listen only. You have nothing to fear. Nothing you say will leave this room.” Dr. Lemon smiles gently.