December 6th, 2023

My Friend Shane 
by Tim Law

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Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.





​I sit cross-legged in the middle of my bedspread and give the man in the chair a blank look.

“Daniel, do you know why I’m here?” he asks again, a hint of frustration in his tone this time.

“Don’t answer, you don’t have to answer,” says my friend Shane.

I know that the man won’t stop asking the same simple question until I do answer him
though, so I take a deep breath and sigh.

“You’re here because of my mum and dad,” I say.

“That’s right,” the man says, his face shows me evidence that he is relieved I am finally
talking. “Do you remember what happened to them?”

“They made me upset, they made me cry,” I reply.

“And are you upset now?” the man asks.

“Tell him, no,” Shane suggests.

“No,” I say, without hesitation. “No, I’m not upset.”

The man sighs, another sign of obvious relief. That means that he believes my lie. Hopefully, he will believe the truth too, because both come out of my mouth just as easily.

“And can you tell me about these symbols?” the man asks, he points to the signs that go up my wall and across the top like a cross beam, and then down the other side.
These symbols are a mixture of devilish heads, mangled corpses, women and men hurting each other, dragons devouring other dragons, and littered among them at seemingly random intervals is my smiling face. These are the images that my friend Shane has placed in my mind with his whispers and giggling, and faintly muttered promises. It is the doorway that sits between my bed and the mattress that lays on the floor of my room, blood-stained and smelling of piss. That’s where Shane sleeps.

“I drew them,” I say. “First of all, I drew them in sharpie pen, permanent marker.”

“Why?” asks the man. “What made you draw them, where did they come from?”

“Nobody made me draw them,” I say with a laugh. “I draw them because they are a gift from my friend.”

“These don’t look like permanent marker, they look like they have been burned into the
wall,” says the man.

“I drew them with the marker pen first,” I explain. “But then mum made dad paint over
them.”

“Did that make you angry?” asks the man. “Is that how your parents upset you?”

“Say no,” says Shane.

I can respond easily, with a simple shake of my head.

“No, I remember that my room smelled of paint fumes, I was not overly pleased about that,” I say.

The paint fumes made it difficult to sleep at night, but by then Shane was already through the doorway we had made and no longer just a voice in my mind.

“You were not overly pleased, but you were not upset?” the man asks, slowly, clarifying.

“That’s right,” I say.

“So you could still see the pictures, even through all of the layers of paint?” the man asks next, slightly changing tack.

“I’m no superhero,” I say with a laugh. “I don’t have x-ray vision or anything like that.”

“What do you have then?” asks the man. “Help me to understand.”

I can detect the plea in his voice, but he is just like all of the others sent from the special hospital. He will never understand, so I tell him what he wants to hear.

“I have my friend. My friend shows me what to draw and where and when,” I say.

“He’s going to ask about me now,” says Shane with a frown. “You’ve told him too much and now I am going to have to make him behave.”

I considered talking to Shane and asking him to reconsider. I have come to like watching my friend play though, sometimes he even lets me join in. So I just smile, look across my room at where they have set up the camera, and I wait.

“Your friend? What friend is this?” the man asks.

He tries to sound like he wants to be my friend, but a true friend wouldn’t ask me questions. A true friend would just believe.

“I’m not allowed to talk about my friend,” I say as I continue to stare straight into the camera lens. “They don’t like it.”

“Is that what made you angry?” asks the man with all the questions. “Did your parents ask about your friend?”

“Lie,” says Shane. “Tell the man you are getting angry now.”

I turn away from the camera then and look directly into the eyes of the man. I can see beyond his dark glasses, I can see his eyes grow wide. This makes me smile.

“My friend is getting angry,” I say, not truly a lie, but not truly a truth either.

“We will wrap up today, then,” says the man.

He turns off the camera and then walks out of my bedroom and into the hall. I can hear him talking on the phone, talking about me, and talking about my mysterious friend.

“Let’s give him something to talk about,” laughs Shane.

Now it’s my turn to worry. “What do you suggest we do?” I ask.

“Trust me,” says Shane as he gives me a mischievous grin.

The camera turns on again while I sit still on my bed. Shane slices an ice-cold finger along my pale cheek. Blood, my blood, oozes from the shallow wound and then ends up splotched upon the wall of my bedroom. Shane writes LEAVE US AL--

before the crimson paint goes dry. Before he can dip his finger in again, my bedroom door opens.

“What the hell?” says the man, looking at me and then at the wall.

I just shrug and smile.

When we move out of my home, I make sure to pack Shane’s things along with mine. I bring my marker, just in case. Shane whispers promises of other friends he’d like me to meet. I smile at the thought.

​With friends like Shane, who cares about enemies?


                                                                        💀💀💀


Tim lives with his family in Southern Australia in a little town called Murray Bridge. He is pretty sure that the Library where he works is haunted, although it is quite new so he is still trying to figure out why. Tim is starting to discover the joy of telling horror and ghost stories, exploring the darkness that he did not know was there. 

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