He walked out to the edge of his property, where the first wagon of tourists had just arrived. A man in a velvet vest stepped out. "Oh look! The authentic ogre experience! Do the roar, big guy!"

The morning mist in the swamp was thick enough to chew on, just the way liked it. He had just finished his daily routine of painting "KEEP OUT" signs when a frantic knocking at his front door—a hollowed-out tree trunk—interrupted his peace.

"Shrek! Shrek! You gotta help me!" came the high-pitched, motor-mouthed braying of .

stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. "It’s a bit much, isn’t it? I just tried to pick some nightshade and a little girl asked me for a selfie."