Well, before I knew it, I was ushered inside the crumbling mausolium that was their home.
Unsure of what to expect, but expecting the worst just in case, I was guided towards a large door. The door looked strange; It was wearing a toupee at a rakish angle over its tatty knotting. This door was drunk.
At this point a head appeared, winked at me and disappeared again! I have never shied away from a friendly face, until now. The reason for my rectitude being that the head had appeared through the damned door.
I needed a drink! The shambling wreck from outside had read my thoughts, for he pressed a jug of fluid into my hand.
The fluid in question seemed to be moving of its own volition, either that or the jug was moving, somewhat disconcertingly, of its own volition! The contents looked unhappy, I looked worse and the bloody door hiccuped.
"Com this vay", said my host in a hammed up hollywoodesque accent. "Gnnnaahhh dnnthh aaiii", echoed Igor, badly.
This was, obviously, going to be a night to remember. Even if I didn't remember it the damned door would, it was now shedding the remains of its varnish and turning a gentle shade of puce. Having no desire to see a door throw up, I hastened towards the middle of the room we had entered, looked around and immediately attempted to retreat.
The entire place was decked out in pre ancien chic. It was also full of skeletal remains in semi upright positions, dancing. Or at least rattling in time to something, for apart from the dry rustle of decomposing cloth (please let it be cloth) there was silence. No sound of footsteps, no music and no voices.
The only sound I could hear was the rasping of Igor's breath, the very faint shhhhllllshhh of a bat in a cloak and the disturbing likeness of two heartbeats under my ears! Balls got hearts??
I swallowed deeply and almost castrated myself in the exercise. At that very moment an exceptionally cold, clammy hand was placed on my shoulder. Thus instantaneously curing the errant gonad situation; They must have bounced off my ankles.
A sibilant whisper accompanied the hand and said "Vuld you like to dance?". If this was the sartorial bat, I was going to change the habit of a lifetime and hit someone! With this thought in mind, I turned slowly (the testicular arrangement precluding rapid movements) and was confronted by ...... a hand!
This was the everloving limit, a disembodied hand was asking for a foxtrot. How it was asking was the more perplexing question, hands not in general being known to be of a talkative nature when unattached to arms and a body.
I glanced at my drink, tempted to try the vile stuff. It had left; We were both relieved! The mug had also departed, all except the handle which squirmed gently in my palm. I dropped it and it slithered away under a nearby table, the table giggled. I checked my palm. In the corner of my eye, I saw the lone hand disappear the same way. The table giggled again, "Obviously a Queen Anne", I thought.
At this juncture it seemed appropriate to check out the room in general and my host in particular. They'd buggered off, I was alone, apart from a few desultory looking pumpkins grinning silently in the dusty gloom.
"at least that's over 
all I've got to do is find the bloody car!". 
