As the ducklings waddled along the overgrown path, their soft quacks echoed faintly in the still air. The graveyard loomed ahead, cloaked in creeping mist, its ancient stones half-sunken into the earth like forgotten memories. A sudden rustle broke the quiet — dry leaves skittering across cracked marble, or perhaps something more. The ducklings froze, tiny eyes wide, feathers bristling. From the shadows, the faint sound of dragging footsteps or the distant creak of iron gates stirred the air. The graveyard had heard them too.