I am currently running a game of Don’t Rest Your Head and had a moment of inspiration, so I wrote this short story based on a character not actually in the active narrative of the story (at least yet), but that is tied to the backgrounds of two of our three protagonists (his father and his best friend). What’s been keeping one of them up is that he noticed Phil’s been missing and he is determined to find out what happened to his one only friend, and the other has been struggling to try and help his son achieve some sense of self sufficiency so he can feel secure is his job as a parent (and not have to end up working himself to death to support his son the rest of his life).

The protagonists are all currently coming to grips with finding themselves in the Mad City, as dealing with that can (at least at first) supersede any other active goals they may have. Very soon, however, they will have to start to work on what they really came here to deal with, or it will start to deal with them. This story, however, falls somewhere before it all happened to them, telling the story of how Phil came to be missing and hinting at where he might be now.

I wrote it for the players to read and enjoy, but I thought others might find it interesting as well, so I am posting it here. Comment if you like it (or find any glaring errors, as I have not done a thorough editing job on it).

But enough jibber-jabber, let’s get onto the story…

Phil’s Tale
By: Dragavan

Phil Ketley’s life wasn’t exactly perfect, but he lived it and tried to make the best of what came his way. It wasn’t easy growing up the son of a janitor of the very school you went to, with all the cruel teasing and torment kids that age can dole out, but he knew his father did the best he could with what he had to offer. He knew it couldn’t have been easy raising an active, although not academically inclined, kid all alone. Especially after the death of his mother at a young age. But none of that understanding made the growing up any easier.

All through school Phil just didn’t seem to have anything that really clicked with him. He tried all the sports, but he just wasn’t that into the athletic. He never got the point of the arts. Science and programming were never things he could wrap his mind around. All through it he never felt like there was anything he was truly good at. Nothing he was really meant to do.

That was until he took his first driving lesson.

It was like nothing he ever felt before when he sat behind the wheel of car. It was what he knew he was meant to do. He never felt more alive than when he was behind the wheel of a car moving at high speeds, so it was just a matter of time that his youthful indiscretions would either lead to jail or the track. Thanks to the guidance and help of his father it was the latter.

Although it was only in the local circuits, and the occasional regional trials when he was really doing well, Phil was obsessed with the stock car racer’s life. Every cent of his money, and much of his father’s, went into his cars and his time at the track. More than a fair share of his time disappeared there too. There are at his friend’s garage, where most of his cars got worked on in the wee hours of the night. It wasn’t unusual for his father not to see him for days on end when their schedules didn’t sync up.

Phil still lived at home with father and didn’t have a lot of friends, but those he had he was close to. Chuck, down at the Rat City Raceway, gave him his first break and was his mentor on the track. Chuck took him under his wing and showed him the ropes. He raced under him, as one of the Rat City Boys, for nearly six years before getting a car of his own. Then it was all his, in both the work and the glory, which felt like he was reborn into a new man.

Unfortunately the feeling wasn’t meant to last.

First his transmission fell out of the car and he had to take out a loan against his cars to replace it. Then he had to get a couple credit cards to pay for extra parts and track fees. His father helped when he could to pay off the loan, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his dad about the cards. The farther he went trying to run the circuit on his own the more in debt he seemed to go and the winnings in this field don’t really cover the kinds of expenses he runs into, at least at this level.

It wasn’t too long after he started to slip down that path that they first approached him, with promises of backing and big things on horizon. It was simple things at first, like a new set of tires or help with an entry fee he was just shy of, but over time the help they gave grew more substantial and they started to ask for repayment more frequently and in larger amounts. He did everything he could to make sure they got paid, but he couldn’t tell his friends or father what he really needed the cash for. What would they think if they found out he had gotten mixed up with these types?

Then came the first time that he came up short and couldn’t pay them back. He didn’t have the cash they required of him, but they let it slide in exchange for a little favor. Something he could handle for them out on the track. This was the first time he threw a race, and took out the leading competitor in the process. Nobody would suspect he did it on purpose, since it meant he lost as well. That was the point. But it just didn’t sit well with him. But he dealt.

He vowed to himself to not get mixed up with them again, and did his best to keep to it, but that was before the engine on his main car ceased. His father was already stretched thing working long hours just to keep a roof over their heads and something that resembled food on the table, so there was no help there. He couldn’t ask his friends for help, after all they were struggling in these financially troubled times as much as anyone. So that just left one place to turn, unless he wanted to drop out of the state trials, and that wasn’t an option.

That’s when he started having trouble sleeping.

At first it was just long hours at his friend’s garage, working on anything he could to keep them running or even to make a few extra bucks to cover what he could, but nothing he did was going to make them disappear. He just wasn’t making enough. As the days went by, he knew they would come knocking and either take everything he had or possibly ask him to do something he didn’t want to have to do again.

Unfortunately this wasn’t what they had in mind this time. His value wasn’t what it used to be, as his rankings were slipping as his stress and insomnia continued to rise. They told him he had one last chance to come clean or he would be used as an example to the others. It was the tone in their voices that told him he would survive the kind of example they had in mind.

Phil knew he only had two choices left at this point. Fight or flight.

If he ran, he would have to do it fast and without warning. No ties to the past could be left to lead them to him. It would leave his family and friends in danger, as they would most certainly be used to try and smoke him out or track him down. So the cost of that would be higher than what he thought he could risk.

If he fought, it would have to be on bigger ground that what he was used to. It couldn’t be fists in the street, because he would lose that one in no time. No, the fight he would have to bring would have to be bigger. Something they would actually fear… But it would come with a price too. If he went to the government and told them about the men, it would mean that his secrets would come crashing down around him and his family and friends would learn the truth. There was also the risk that he wouldn’t succeed and his protection would be pulled away from him, leaving him to the very wolves he tried to bring to light.

Neither of these choices seemed very good, but he had no choice. He had to choose one and ride it out, or all would be lost. At least that’s what he thought. He didn’t even know a third choice was just around that dark corner of his sleepless mind.

On the eve of his final day, knowing that the next morning was the moment they would arrive to collect what was theirs (one way or another), he sat in his car outside the track and considered his options one last time. He thought the rest of his life was resting on the next decision he made. He wasn’t allowed to make that decision.

They must have known he was up to something, because they were already at the track watching him. They knew he wasn’t going to make the payment, so they were going to get the dirty part out of the way that night. He never noticed them as they moved up around the car, so it came as a start when he was suddenly surrounded.

His heart skipped a beat…

The world seemed to stop for a second…

His mind inhaled a slow breath…

Then all around him was fire and noise. His car was ablaze, the men were engulfed, the screaming was deafening, and the roar of the flames seemed to speak to him… But Phil was untouched in the center of this inferno. He was in shock and couldn’t move from his seat at the wheel, but he knew there was no way he was driving away from this one. Nothing recognizable was left of the rest of his car.

Slowly the blaze started to die out and darkness was once again surrounding him, but the smell of smoke and death was still thick in the air. Not sure how he could, he managed to step out of the car and walk away virtually untouched. Sure he was smeared with soot, but there wasn’t a burn anywhere on him or his clothes. In a daze he stumbled away from the scene and into the streets.

It wasn’t very long until he was pulled out of his stupor by a sharp voice behind him pointedly speaking to him. “You can’t get away from your debts that easily, Phil.”

Phil knew it wasn’t over and his shoulders sank as he slowly turned around to face his end with at least some level of dignity. What met his eyes was something beyond what could have ever expected to see and he felt his mind slide just a little to the left inside his head.

What stood before him was what appeared to be a tall thin man in a rumpled gray suit with a sweat-stained shirt below it, but instead of a head he had a large white ball with a straight pin pointed directly at him sticking out from the center. On either side of this Pin Head were what appeared to be rather large brown dogs, only they had large sewing needles in place of their heads, which were threaded with a wispy red thread that ran down their spines and wagged behind them like ghostly tails.

Raising its hand, the mouthless monstrosity pointed at Phil and spoke in that same unearthly voice. “You can’t run away from your debts. The Tacks Man will have what is his, and his Needle Nose Bloodhounds have your scent now, so there is nowhere you can run.”

He wasn’t going to take this abomination’s word for it so he turned and ran. At first he could hear the dogs on his trail, their loud sniffs and low growls biting through the shadowy darkness, but as time passed they become less noticeable. He never actually looked back, but after what felt like hours of running, ducking down alleys, and slipping through the cracks in fences, he thought he finally lost them.

Unfortunately for him, he too seemed to be lost by this point. He didn’t recognize the streets any more and he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. All he did know was that he didn’t want to have anything else to do with whatever those things were. So he would do whatever it took to keep them away and keep himself from ever being brought before this Tacks Man.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had slipped into the Mad City and no roads forged lead back out again. To the outside world of the City Slumbering he had simply gone missing, and many wouldn’t even notice that at first…

But there are those who did.

One in particular.

But that’s another story.

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