There is nothing like the noise of the playground. Even from a kilometre away the roar of the children can be heard over the sound of planes taking off. Amongst the crowd sitting and eating their lunch is a group of boys playing handball. The little faded yellow ball pings back and forth across the freshly painted white lines. A large gang of girls is hopping in and out of elastic skipping ropes and a knot of boys is kicking a soccer ball. A glorious kick launches the ball across the cracked bitumen. A boy heads the ball over towards the shade-cloth, which runs around the quadrangle. The ball comes to rest in the drain, nestled in the shade of the awning.
The bravest boy, Tad, comes to retrieve the checkered ball. 'Don't look at them'� he chants to himself as he bends down to pick it up. Even in the shadows he can feel their eyes boring into him as he turns back to his laughing friends and boots the ball into the sunlight.
Sarah is watching them too. She watches them talk to themselves, a tight cabal oblvious to the stream of activity around them. Sarah is seated, in strict school uniform, on a battered leather chair that has seen better days. She is twisting her fingers around a hair band of blue and white that she has on her wrist. Next to her is her mother. They are waiting for the principal to finish reading Sarah's conduct report.
The principal is looking at her and her mother with his sad eyes. Over his shoulder Sarah can stare straight out into the playground. She glances at the three girls through the thick glass of the window-pane. The witches seem to be able to talk to each other without moving their mouths. Their blood red lips are a slash against their white skin, pale as a fish's underbelly, and their long straight jet black hair hangs over their faces like funeral veils.
'I don't know what's got into you, Sarah?'� says her mother. Sarah looks at her, bleached blonde hair and a tan that seems to be part of her skin, wondering if she might be adopted. As her mother admonishes Sarah the shiny jewellery glitters in the sunlight that pours through the window. Her mother speaks a bit loud and a little too quickly. Sarah says nothing.
'I don't feel she has found her feet yet.'� The Principal sounds concerned. 'The teachers are worried because she has failed to submit work and her attendance is patchy at best.'�





Her mother turns to Principal Webber.
'Things have been difficult since her father left us.'�
The grey-haired man on the other side of the desk nods. He has read Sarah's file.
'I have to start work early most days. So Sarah takes her younger brother to school before coming here.'� Her mother tries to smile. 'She used to be so reliable.'�
'I understand.'� said the Principal. In thirty years in the teaching profession he had met a few Sarah's in his time. 'We just need some assurances that Sarah can knuckle down.'�
'I promise you she'll be better.'� Her mother stares at her and Sarah, with a blush, nods her head. Sarah's eyes wander to the three girls as she hears the bell toll. They seem to float off to class like they are walking on air.

'It's not fair.'� Sarah throws herself onto her bed and buries her face into the floral bedspread. She feels like crying but tears will not come any more. She lays there listening to herself breathing, wondering if the well has run dry, then slowly becoming aware of her brother watching Power Rangers on the telly downstairs. Like a kitten Sarah unfurls from her coiled up position and, climbing into the chair tucked up tight at her study desk, opens her backpack. Pulling out her school diary and folder she grits her teeth.
'Might as well do my homework.'� She has an hour before it is time to put some food in the microwave for her and Robbie. 'I hate maths.'� she says to the empty room.
Life had got hard after her father left. Sarah was only ten and a permanent sadness rests in her heart. Her mother had wanted her to see someone but Sarah told her she was Ok. The minister at her church had talked to her and her friends had been kind but Sarah still nursed the special hurt with constant care and devotion.
At six she goes down to the kitchen and puts some plastic containers in the microwave. Then she and Robbie begin to prepare the table.
'Hello love.'� Her mother comes over to her carefully and kisses her on the head. 'Everything alright?'�
'Sure mum.'�
'And your homework?'�
'It's done.'�
Robbie comes up and hugs his mother.
'How was school Rob?'� She asks as she ruffles his hair.






Robbie talks non-stop for ten minutes about his friends at school before getting his drawings for his mother to admire. Sarah gets the plates out of the drawer.

'Hanna. Oh Hanna.'�
Hanna Vu sits with her friends at the front of the class. They are keen to learn and this is the best place to be. Except for the boys, who are acting like idiots and trying to impress the girls. She just ignores him and tries to concentrate on the history lesson. The teacher is discussing the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the preservation of the Roman city of Pompeii. Sarah is trying to keep up with the work being done on the board when she feels something hit her on the back of the head. She turns quickly. Adam is grinning at her like a circus clown.
'What?'�
'Leave me alone.'�
'What?'� He shrugs his shoulders. It is his attempt at humour.
'Leave me alone you moron.'�
'Or what?'�
'Or I'll fix you.'�
Adam says nothing more, just mutters under his breath to his mates.
Sarah turns back. Then she feels something hit her again. Without thinking she bounds out of her desk and makes towards the giggling boy.
'Leave me alone.'�
'No-one is interested in you.'� He shoots back. Sarah is bigger than the boy, still waiting for his growth spurt, and she feels a desire to kill she has never felt before. Just then the teacher intervenes.
'Sarah, sit down will you?'�
Sarah turns and as she does she notes a smile of malevolence on the face of one of the witches.
As they trundle out after the bell, watched by the teacher for signs of renewed warfare, Lilibeth, the tallest witch, speaks to her. 'Cemetery. Midnight.'� Sarah is not even sure she is being spoken to but feels the eyes of the other girls bore into her before the witches drift out of the room.




'What did they want?'� asks Hanna.
'I have no idea.'� says Sarah.
Sarah got home that afternoon and attempted to do her homework. As she stared at the maths problems she found the only thing she could think about was the soft hissing of the witch as she passed by. Was it a joke? They were not girls with a sense of humour. Did they really want to meet her in the cemetery at midnight? How could she get there? The maths numbers swam around in her head, dancing like pixies, but nothing came out. Sarah put down the pen and reached over and punched her CD player on. The sounds of Obitz crashed around the room like a clumsy bear as Sarah closed her eyes. She thought about her father. It both comforted and frightened her. If only he were still here.
When her mother came home, Sarah had already cooked the tea. She ate the fish fingers and had a bowl of ice-cream before going into the TV room. She went to bed without protest and lay under the doona watching the shadows on her ceiling.
Her mother came into her room and looked over her. Sarah muffled a sigh and felt her mother tuck in the corners of her blanket. This used to be the time when her father would come in and tell her a story. Sometimes he just asked her about her day. A special time, but those times had passed. The light switch clicked and Sarah closed her eyes as if going to sleep.
When she was sure her mother had gone to bed Sarah threw back the blankets and, putting on her boots, she crept down the stairs.
The front light came on automatically and Sarah dashed across the lawn trying to stay in the shadows of the trees.
Her heart beat fast. Of course if her mother caught her she would be dead meat. But she had to know. What did the witches do at night? Sarah walked quickly along the darkened streets until she reached the gates of the Woodlawn Cemetery. Like all the kids in the area she knew that although the gates were locked shut there were several spots along the wire fence that were easy to crawl under. Sarah lifted a loose piece of metal and sidled through the gasping metal fence. On her hands and knees she glanced up at the two huge crosses that dominated the Catholic section. This part of the cemetery was groaning at the seams, full of Italian monuments to their loved ones. Dusting her hands along her jeans to shake off the small pink bits of gravel that dug into her palms, she walked carefully towards the heart of the midnight-dark cemetery.
Ohaaah. She heard something. Voices. Chanting. The sounds seemed to rise and fall as she made her way up the cinder path. She could see a glow behind the copse of trees that separated the Anglicans from the rest of the dead. Her eyes grew wider as she approached. In the glow she could see the three witches moving, swaying and tossing their hair in some macabre dance. She paused as the flames of a small fire flickered and spluttered. It was almost as if it was talking to her, calling to her. Sarah walked almost without thinking towards the group.
The tallest witch, Isabella, broke away and came towards her, still swaying to her invisible music.
'So you came. He said you would.'�
'He? Who?'�
'The One. The Master.'�
'What do you mean?'�
Isabella just looked at her with beautiful almond eyes, like a cat, and whispered to Sarah.
'Would you like to have your father back?'�
The hair on Sarah's neck prickled.
'How do you know?'� I've never told anyone what is in my heart thought Sarah.
'The Master knows everything. He knows you miss him and he wants to help.'�
Sarah looked away. Tears were welling in her eyes and she did not want this witch to see her weak and sad. When her father left her Sarah had been angry. She spent weeks in her bedroom crying and yelling. Her mother would try and comfort her but Sarah could not yet see that it wasn't her father's fault. Then Sarah began to blame herself. If only she had ... she did not know what but there must have been something she could have done.
Isabella whispered to her again.
'Come. Join us.'� She moved back into the circle of light and joined her sisters as they twisted and turned around the fire. Sarah could see a face in the orange flames. It was a face she almost recognised. Sarah stood still, a thousand thoughts flashing through her mind, like the lightning that rippled across the night sky and illuminated the graveyard.
'Hey you. What are you doing?'�
The witches stopped. A man in uniform was walking towards them, a flashlight swinging back and forth in his hand, casting shadows on the tombstones.
Without thinking, Sarah ran. She flew off into the darkness without even looking at the witches. She ran and ran, darting between the monuments until, lungs burning, she skidded to a halt.
Sarah knew where she was. She had walked this path many times in the last two years. She cautiously approached the headstone, plain white with black lettering.
'John Mc Donald.' Her name. She looked at the stone and sighed.
'Dad. Oh Dad.'� Sarah touched the stone, tracing the letters of her father's name. Leaning on the cool marble, She remembered how her father had looked that morning.
'Come on Sarah hurry up.'�
Sarah bounced down the stairs.
'It's Ok dad.'�
'No it's not Sarah. I'm running late.'�
'Sorry dad.'�
'I can't wait any longer. You'll have to make your own way to soccer.'�
Sarah stood in the kitchen, her sport socks dangling at her ankles.
'Dad.'�
'Don't Dad me. I have to go.'�
Sarah remembered her last sight of her father, angrily storming out the front door as she almost yelled at him to wait for her. She remembered the sound of the car starting up and her father reversing down the drive.
She also remembered the look on her mother's face when she told Sarah about the accident. If only. But Sarah had begun to realise that life was made up of if only and she would never see her dad again. As a light mist fell on the short grass that divided the graves Sarah felt her face becoming wet.

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