Helena Heghinak

Helena Heghinak is based in New York, has a background in public health, and is an accomplished piano player. She can be found on instagram @heghinak.

Easy read of the short story in the image above:

The black cat

It wasn’t until the lull in the music outside my apartment that I noticed the small black cat in the corner of my room. Perched like a statue, purring calmly, its furry tail sweeping the floor. How it got in here was besides the point. It took up too much space. I could see it with my eyes closed. But since it was intently staring at me, I stared right back at it. Give it back its own attitude. After all, this is my room. 

But you know how cats are. They think they own every space they’re in. As if to prove this, the cat started making moves to demonstrate its command of my room, all while keeping its eyes fixed on me, but I felt myself unwilling to back down. Maybe if it was somewhere outside on the street, I wouldn’t have the guts to go eye to eye with a cat in a staring contest. They are, after all, renowned as poker face experts. But in my small room? I wasn’t going to let a cat shake me down. 

The cat started clutching the wall, making its way across. Going up the wall seemed unnecessary. Why couldn’t it unhurriedly glide across the room like a proper cat? The cat was getting bigger. The claw marks on the trail it was leaving behind were unmistakable, and it started to cast a shadow across the room where it made its passing, playing with whatever light could get through the window. It turned the corner and started making its way towards the window, changing the weather in the room, casting darkness, captivating everything.

As it got bigger, it began morphing into another creature. The shadows formed ridges that stuck out along its spine, as if they were going to rip right out like the spikes of a dinosaur. The claws were getting bigger, digging deeper into my walls. The worst was the grin it had on. Wading the waters of my room, patiently waiting to bite at any second like a crocodile. When it reached the ceiling atop the window, it was so big it took up the entire window. And that made me angry. So I was the one who pounced. 

I firmly latched on with my own two bare hands. Now I was the one with the sharp claws. This cat had been under my skin for too long. I started squeezing, watching it squirm, trying to swat and get me back, but it was all in my hands. I kept wringing it out from under my skin. The cat was getting smaller again. So I kept deflating it, and slowly but surely it returned to its original form. It was back to being a small black cat. And just like that, it bounced out of my hands, trotted across the room, and darted out of the window. It was gone, and the music returned. But I had to be the one to get it out.