Shrek in the Fog

They always said the swamp was dangerous at night. Kids in town joked about Shrek living

there, but no one took it seriously. I did. I should have.

I was walking home late one night, taking the shortcut through the swamp. The fog was thick,

curling around the twisted trees like fingers. My flashlight barely cut through it.

Every sound felt amplified—twigs snapping, frogs croaking, water dripping.

Then I heard it: a low, guttural laugh. Not human. Deep,

echoing, almost mocking. I froze. The laugh came again, closer this time.

My heart pounded, but I told myself it was just some drunk guy—or maybe a wild animal.