The dining hall, draped in cobwebs and flickering candlelight, was meant to showcase a spectral feast, a culinary marvel of floating food. However, the reality was far less impressive. Listless grapes drifted aimlessly through the air, spectral bread rolls hovered with the enthusiasm of a depressed gnat, and a roast chicken, presumably enchanted to fly, simply spun slowly in place, occasionally bumping into a chandelier.

Guests milled about, looking bored. An Ankou leaned against a wall, idly sharpening his scythe, while a Barghest, its eyes glowing red, yawned widely, revealing rows of sharp teeth. An Animated Calavera sipped from a floating teacup, its painted skull tilted in an expression of utter boredom.

"Is this it?" Horace muttered, watching a spectral grape bounce harmlessly off the Baron's spectral nose. "The grand floating feast? It's less 'haunted' and more 'mildly inconvenienced by a gentle breeze.'" Edgar, perched on a floating pineapple, pecked at it with distinct disinterest.

The Baron wrung his hands, his spectral form flickering anxiously. "I… I envisioned something more… dynamic! But the food simply refuses to cooperate!"

"Well," Horace drawled, "if you want a haunted feast, perhaps you should encourage the food to act… haunted."

As if responding to his sarcastic suggestion, the spectral feast erupted into chaos. Plates launched themselves across the room with the force of ghostly frisbees, soup bowls tipped their contents over unsuspecting guests’ heads, and wine glasses zoomed through the air with a menacing swirl, their spectral contents sloshing precariously.

The previously bored guests shrieked with delight as the food took on a life of its own. The Ankou chased a rogue bread roll with surprising agility, his scythe glinting in the candlelight. The Barghest snapped at a flying steak, its eyes glowing with predatory glee.

The Animated Calavera, startled by a shower of spectral salsa, let out a cheerful skeletal giggle. A Pontianak swooped through the air, snatching spectral grapes with her long, black hair, while a Dokkaebi cackled gleefully as a spectral fish slapped a pompous Jiangshi in the face.

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"Magnificent!" the Baron cried, wiping spectral gravy from his spectral waistcoat. "The finest haunted feast in centuries! Such dynamic dining! Such… culinary chaos!"

Horace watched the mayhem, a single eyebrow raised. "Chaos, yes. Culinary masterpiece? Debatable. I blame myself though, not my finest hour, sarcastically giving a spectral baron party planning advice."

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Soon after, the Baron ushered Horace into the portrait gallery. Rows of scowling ancestors stared down from their gilded frames. They were meant to follow guests with their eyes, adding a touch of unsettling surveillance to the gala. However, in practice, the portraits looked more mildly annoyed than truly menacing.

A Penanggalan, her disembodied head floating through the gallery, trailing viscera, seemed unimpressed. A Noppera-bō flickered its long, spectral tongue at a particularly judgmental-looking portrait lady.

“The Haunted Portrait Gallery,” the Baron announced, gesturing dramatically, "guaranteed to send shivers down your spine!"

Horace glanced at the portraits, unimpressed. A Pishtaco recoiled dramatically when the portrait he stood before muttered something about a grease fire. A pair of Kallikantzaroi snickered at a portrait of a stern-faced matron who had rolled her spectral eyes.

“More like mildly unsettling,” Horace commented dryly. "They look like they're judging my interior design choices, not haunting me." A nearby Preta poked its spectral belly, offended by the portrait that had quipped how uninspired its clothing was.

"They're supposed to follow you with their eyes," the Baron explained, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "But they seem to have… lost their focus."

"Well," Horace offered, "if you want them to be truly spooky, why not have them… jump out of the frames and chase people?"

The portraits, as if taking his words as a royal decree, sprang to life. Ghostly hands reached out from the frames, grabbing at guests’ hats, tugging on their spectral clothing, and occasionally giving a playful spectral pinch. One particularly adventurous portrait, depicting a fierce-looking huntsman, leaped entirely from its frame and began chasing a group of giggling ghosts down the hall, its spectral hounds barking excitedly.

The Baron clapped his spectral hands together, ecstatic. "Brilliant! Utterly brilliant! Interactive art at its finest! This gallery is alive!"

Horace, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttered under his breath, "Alive and incredibly annoying. If I get paint on my coat, I'm billing you for dry cleaning." He shot Edgar a warning look as the raven eyed a particularly shiny earring worn by a portrait lady, its beak opening speculatively. This night was getting weirder by the minute, and frankly, he was running out of sarcastic remarks. He needed a thesaurus, a stiff drink, and possibly an exorcism for himself.