Tanvi isn’t the girl of Misha’s dreams; she’s the girl from his nightmares. She has appeared in his chilling dreams before he even meets her; when he DOES meet her, he falls for her.

Their relationship turns stormy, bordering on abusive, and takes a dramatic turn when they are held captive be a group hoping to extract money from Tanvi’s wealthy family.

But there is something more sinister at work, and the kidnappers and their victims find themselves struggling for survival as a supernatural force from Misha’s nightmares makes itself known in the real world.


category: Young adult fiction
published: May 2019
ISBN: 9781770865525
publisher: Cormorant Books
imprint: DCB

About Cara


Cara Martin is the author of several acclaimed novels for young people published under the name C. K. Kelly Martin. Her most recent novel, Stricken, was released in 2017. A graduate of the Film Studies program at York University, Cara has lived in the Greater Toronto Area and Dublin, Ireland. Within the space of 3500 miles she’s worked a collection of quirky jobs at multiple pubs and video stores, an electricity company, a division of the Irish post office, a London toyshop, and an advertising analytics company. She’s also been an image editor for a dot-com startup that didn’t survive the 90s, and a credit note clerk for Canada's largest national distributor of General Merchandise. Cara currently resides in Ottawa, Ontario with her husband and is still afraid of the Child Catcher from the film adaptation of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

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Shantallow: How it begins

Just Like You Said It Would Be

I don’t do this anymore. I don’t cut left onto Bridge Road and follow it past Holy Trinity High School where the trees are shuddering together in the wind, a sign proclaiming “WELCOME BACK STAFF AND STUDENTS” squatting malevolently in front of them. I don’t swing a right into Newtown Creek, one of the more exclusive areas of Tealing, tapping my fingers impatiently against the wheel as I cruise by grass as green as a golf course but as stern and precise as a marine’s crewcut. My heart isn’t thumping erratically, like a kid making sure his feet don’t hang over the bed so the thing that lives underneath won’t grab them, while houses with porches only slightly smaller than the apartment I lived in four years ago flash by my windows

It’s not happening. I told myself I was finished with this last time.

Meanwhile the sky overhead is a ceiling of unbroken black, moonless and starless the same as if there were nothing up there. But I know better. I know that when the cloud cover breaks the stars will twinkle with ostentatious brightness, appearing three times as plentiful as they do on my street in Balsam where the streetlamps follow the townhouses’ example of crowding near to each other. Memories of the glittering Newtown Creek sky—and other useless things—close in on me while I approach the Mahajan house, the sick feeling in my stomach creeping up my throat in slow motion as I take my foot off the gas.

More to come.

Contact Cara


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Visit the website of Cara's alter ego, C. K. Kelly Martin, to learn about her other books.