Witchcraft Central. (Chapter 1).

"Nearly Halloween again, girls," Old Ma Witchcraft was up and about bright and early for once. "Rise and smile, up and atom! I have a surprise for you. Time for our morning sing along, get those sluggish vibes vanished! "

Twelve year old Emerson tried not to heave yet another long sigh, as dozy Dimity trailed after her. "Oh, do we have to sing? I need my beauty sleep." Dimity may have been only ten years old, but she was full of sass, and in Emerson's face all day. "Why can't we go to a a proper school?"

Ma Witchcraft was not listening, pretending she couldn't hear.

"Halloween Happy Dance song, on my count of three!"

Emerson sort of looked energetic, she tended to take things too seriously. Ma Witchcraft led the morning chorus line, singing in a dramatic voice.

"Yes, it's annual Halloween,

For best witches ever seen,

All washing does is take and take,

Girls, your magic talents, do not forsake."

This engaging tuneless song and dance continued,

"All men want is you washing socks and jocks,

Swing legs high, kick 'em right in the crotch!

Time to conjure up your flying charms,

Come on, witches, pump those arms,

Let's go girls, raise your brooms,

Today and always, flying zooms!"

Ma Witchcraft beamed one of her rare smiles, always happy to lead Emerson and Dimity in their homeschooling song and dance. Before the sisters even said good morning, Old Ma was lecturing them. Again.

"Today, girls, I have been urgently notified about an emergency International Sorcery Symposium. I am leaving you home alone, with Emerson in command. I have written a list of assignments and household sparkle chores. I want them all done and the home here spotless by 6 pm. If nothing gets done, you two shall be grounded from attending the Halloween Homeschoolers' Party Dance. Dimity, are you even listening to me?"

Dimity muttered something half heard. Old Ma was never short of bossy instructions, and neither was Emerson.

"If the toaster starts reciting Shakespeare again, just unplug it." Ma Witchcraft said, adjusting her pointed travelling hat. It was a magnificent shade of dazzling magenta, which she now insisted was the official colour of all worldwide witches.

"And absolutely do not permit Mr. Midget to eat your homework. He has a very sensitive stomach, and all those long division worksheets give him gas."

Emerson privately and firmly believed she was the only normal and sane person in a three mile radius. She looked up from browsing her spell book.

"Ma, the toaster only recites 'Macbeth'. It's very apt and on theme. And Mr. Midget doesn't eat our homework. He's currently still trying to digest a patio chair he chomped on last night."

On the rug, Mr. Midget, weighing a totally chunky 150 pounds, thumped his tail. He was a shaggy, jet black Newfoundland dog, who not only possessed zero magical talent, but was also exceedingly slow moving, with nothing but food in his dinner bowl on his brain.

"He's a growing boy," Dimity piped up.

Dimity was wearing mismatched socks on purpose, while she was bravely trying to balance a wooden spoon on her nose. "Plus, he adds character to our house. He's an unmagical character, but still...."

"He adds mud," Emerson corrected her sister, "and sticky drool."

Ma Witchcraft sighed, checking her pocket watch which ran on moonbeams and free anxiety.

"I must fly off and away now. I don't want to miss the opening remarks on 'Modern Hexing in the Digital Age'.

That's on at 9 am, and parking for brooms there is a nightmare. I've left your assignments and tasks on the counter. Be good, do your chores, and do not use the Levitation Spell to dust the ceiling fan. We can all recall the Great Chandelier Disaster of last Tuesday."

"That was all Dimity's fault," Emerson interrupted quickly.

"It was an experiment in physical manifestation." Dimity protested, her wooden spoon clattering to the floor.

With a very dramatic swirl of her magenta cloak, and surrounded by an aroma of toasted marshmellows and sizzling, Ma Witchcraft stepped into the fireplace.

In a surprising flash of blue flames, she was gone, leaving the kitchen suddenly, suspiciously quiet. The two sisters stared at each other for exactly three seconds, before lunging for the kitchen counter.

"I get to read the list!" Dimity shrieked, snatching up the parchment.

"You can read at the pace of a dying snail," Emerson complained, pulling the page from Dimity's hands. She cleared her throat and bossily read aloud.

__________________________________________________________

TODAY'S SCHEDULE FOR EMERSON & DIMITY.

1. 9.30 am--History: Read Chapter 4 of 'Runes and Why They are Annoying'.

2. 10.30 am--Practical Magic: Practise basic Telekinesis on non-living objects only. (Looking at you, Dimity. Leave my frog alone).

3. 11.30 am---Chores: Vacuum the living room, and print off your potion recipes for tomorrow.

4. 1 pm--Lunch: Eat the leftover dragon-pepper chilli. Do not feed it to the dog.

___________________________________________________________

As if hearing his name, Mr. Midget produced a mighty yawn that sounded like a deflating bagpipe. He then collapsed at Emerson's feet.

"Ugh, get off, Mr. Midget. You weigh more than a giant mountain," Emerson groaned, trying to wiggle her toes. "All right, let's get our History over with."

An hour later, History was definitely not over with. Dimity had used her magic wand to turn her 'History of Runes' textbook into a flip book of a dancing skeleton, while Emerson was actually trying to study.

"If you're don't stop making that skeleton do the Macarena, I'm going to turn your shoes into pudding." Emerson warned.

"You don't have that vital magical bandwidth for pudding," Dimity scoffed. "Besides, it's 11.30. Time for chores! I'll get the printer started if you do the vacuuming."

"Deal," Emerson agreed. Vacuuming was noisy, but at least the vacuum cleaner did not talk back. Or so she thought.

Emerson dragged the heavy, older style upright vacuum cleaner out of the closet. Meanwhile, Dimity sat at the ancient wooden desk, tapping impatiently as the laser printer geared itself up. She hit 'Print' for their potion recipes.

Across the room, the sleek wireless printer suddenly let out a loud, grinding noise. It didn't sound like its normal 'whir-whir-shhh'. It sounded angry. A bright red-light began flashing vigorously on its console.

"Emerson," Dimity said, staring at the screen. "We're not alone. The computer says, "Error: Printer experiencing existential dread."

"That's a typo. It means paper jam." Emerson replied, plugging in the vacuum cleaner.

Suddenly, a mechanical, slightly metallic voice boomed from the corner of the room. It was loud, crisp, and decidedly grumpy.

"It is NOT a paper jam!"

The girls stared in horror at the printer in the corner. The tween sisters froze. Mr Midget lifted his massive head, tilted it to the side, and gave a confused whimper.

(A tale to be continued).