Monster Mash

In the twilight of autumn, when pumpkins glow and the wind howls like a chorus, a party begins to which everyone is invited - from vampires to zombies with a sense of rhythm. Instead of boring small talk, there are moans, creaking coffin lids and syncopated ‘oo-ha-ha’s to the good old beat. Everything moves, rattles and dances, as if the dead have finally understood the meaning of life: to do the Monster Mash in time.

All this is more like a retro disco for those who haven't died of laughter in too long than a horror film. Skeletons knock their bones together, werewolves shake their heads, and Dracula is no longer concerned with aristocracy - he's just part of the band, and he's fine with that. And out of this madness comes a comforting thought: let someone grumble about the ‘Transylvania twist,’ as long as the party lives on. Even if everyone at it is already gone.