For the short story reader. Updated every Monday.

The Short Form

“The Infamous Bengal Ming”

Rajesh Parameswaran


As soon as I got up and started to walk, I heard Maharaj break into a run, and in three quick bounds—boom, boom, boom—his heavy body was on top of mine and his claws were in my back and his teeth were sunk deep into my ass.

I screamed and writhed, but he kept me pinned down for thirty seconds or a minute, during which time I heard him fart, casual, loud and stinky, as if to demonstrate how relaxed he was, how little effort it took him to keep me locked down and in pain. Finally, he released me, as calmly as you please. He got up and started to walk away. (He didn't even look at me—just like Saskia.) He paused in front of the metal door in the fiberglass rock where I usually got my food. He crouched down and sent out a fat stream of piss. That smell would stick to that rock for days, and he knew it.

We read it in I Am an Executioner.

Originally published in Granta 117: Horror.