GOLDENEYE: GOOD FRIDAY

SPECIAL REPORT I

"Did you hear about that police officer that disappeared? I heard he got into a huge, gory crash!" Your best friend asks, walking with you and your two besties. The four of you step out with your school lunches onto the metal bleachers. The sun's bleaching the track paint, and the football team's practicing for their away game in a week. "I heard that the Sergeant's car got flattened by a truck behind him! I think it was... the brown girl from 4th period that told me." She mentions. She slags her spaghetti around her tray, making a sauce tornado. It doesn't really matter to you that much, considering the only sauce you need to know about is what's going on in town.

"And I think there was some other kid who randomly disappeared. Thanks to them, we have a new curfew..." You grumble, chin in hand. "I mean it's not so bad, just a couple weeks until Thanksgiving." Your other friend does yesterday's algebra homework before class. "Yeah, but that also includes the thanksgiving party at John's house, and my birthday party. My life couldn't get any worse..."

"Even worse than the Sergeant?" The other one, nose in her poetry book, asks you. She left her lunch at home, trying to get thinner by not eating. Because your group all knows how well that's gonna work. "Well, I mean, no, but like I just don't wanna sacrifice my social life because a kid went missing and some officer can't drive!" You proclaim out loud, earning a couple looks from the football kids and other people on the bleachers. "Girl, shut up. You'll get in trouble for sayin stuff like that..." the tornado girl whispered to you. As much as you want to voice your opinions, she's right, considering you'd much rather keep your reputation up than be ostracized. With that, the mood continues on, albeit with less of your response.

The day goes by quickly (beside the pop quiz in history class), and before you know it, you're already home. But you don't have time to laze about all afternoon, since you got cheerleading practice in about two hours. After that drab of a practice, since nobody knew the plan except for you and the teacher, you head home at six to find a note on the nightstand in the living room.

"Dear daughter,

Me and your father have gone out for the night for a date. There are TV dinners in the freezer. We'll be back by twelve. I know the kind of things kids your age want to get into, but don't do anything we wouldn't do. And whatever you do, don't leave the house after you get back from cheerleading practice.

With lots of love, Jamie."

Sweet.

Three hour later, you're sat down on the popcorn-stuffed couch, TV dinner in hand and sleeping dog in lap, watching the 8:00 news. Strung out on the couch, knowing your parents would only get home at pitch-black time, you've decided to have a day to yourself. Around the living room, your pictures mirror yourself. Above the TV, a picture with your parents in North Hero Island, where you caught your first fish. It was your last one of the day too, a big fat Largemouth bass. Another one stands proudly on top of the coffee table. It's your dad at his job, a train conductor, on a family vacation to the Catskills. That was an amazing trip, and you got to meet your grandparents, who owned a resort there. By all accounts, you've had a pretty good life. Shame it has to end.

All of a sudden, the TV channel turns off. Your ears are assaulted from the sudden static, and you look for the remote, but for some odd reason you can't find it. The shock scares your dog off into the background, Without warning, the room goes dark, but the TV stays on. The static slows down as a man you've never seen before replaces the news broadcast. It seems somewhat barren, and the screen keeps zooming in and out. The man disappears for a few frames and comes back with a paper, presumably a script.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen, I'm —-." His name is reversed, and you can't decipher it into anything. "First on the hour, —— forces bombed a local dog named 'Hero'. Here's a live picture."

Wait a minute. That's your dog. Instinctively you check for him, but you never find him and realize the scene on the channel is behind your house. They just bombed your dog. Somebody has bombed your dog. Your gut screams at you to call for help, but the shock of it freezes you in place. "In much more important news, we have an update on the missing Sergeant. He is being held by the cult known as GOLDENEYE."

Through your grief-stricken mind you realize that they're talking about Peterson, the cop who got into a car crash only a day ago. You also realize you've never heard of a "Goldeneye" beside the name of that one house in Jamaica. "Given the little information found, we have little doubt that this terrifying cult is also responsible for the disappearance of 9 year old Jeremy Collins. But a new child will have disappeared in less than a few minutes."

"Her name, or rather your name, miss... hasn't been disclosed currently for her endangerment. We do know that she is the owner of the pieces of dog scattered around her backyard right now, though. We'll be seeing you." The TV turns off, and with it the rest of the house.

You hear yourself shriek in fear, running upstairs, but the shadows are too fast, and they drag you down into the Underworld. You scream for help, scratching your nails into the staircase, but you don't have the energy. Slowly, you've lost track of your body, and soon find yourself being carried in a bag, drifting....

drifting...

drifting away...