Erin Kamoche sat on a cold metal chair in a stark interrogation room. The glaring overhead light cast eerie shadows on the sterile white walls. Across from her sat Detective Mason Gray, his eyes squinting from years of scrutinizing the most puzzling of human behaviors.

“Please state your name for the record,” Gray said, his voice clipped and businesslike as he flipped on the recording device.

“I already went through this with several other officers! Why are you wasting my time with this repetitive nonsense?” Erin’s eyes flashed with irritation.

“You haven’t gone through it with me. Sooner begun, sooner done. Now, for the record?”

“My name is Erin Kamoche. I’m married and the mother of five children, ages five through twelve. During the pandemic, my family observed isolation protocols, and we have not received any government assistance such as unemployment, pandemic insurance, stimulus money, or social security benefits. I never had thoughts of harming myself, never attempted self-harm, and never had thoughts of harming others.”

Gray raised his hand. “Please, Mrs. Kamoche, do not skip ahead.”

“Sorry, but like I said, I’ve been through this several times.”

Gray scrolled through his tablet, stopping on a particular note. “On the Ides of April, 2021, were you the recipient of an email bearing the subject line: ‘The Fate of The World Rests on Your Shoulders’?”

“If by ides you mean April 15th, maybe. I don’t remember the exact date,” Erin responded, clearly growing impatient.

“Did you open said email?”

“Yes, you know I did. That’s why we’re here.”

Gray paused, choosing his words carefully. “Did the email open a full-screen video window displaying a person wearing a face mask made from leather, like the kind worn by crude, knotted mannequins?”

“The person wore a mask. Your detailed description and comparison example of it has me a little concerned for you.”

“Was this person’s voice filtered through a distorter, possibly to hide their gender as well as identity?”

“The voice was definitely distorted, yes.”

“Was this person’s movements jerky, giving them the appearance of a flesh and wood puppet, like Pinocchio caught in mid-transformation?”

“Again, your descriptions are frightening.”

Gray moved on, “Did this person inform you of just how insignificant you are in the greater scheme of things, being one person of the 7,835,208,156 members of the Homo sapiens species, which is but one of 5,300,000 species on Earth, which is but one of 8 planets orbiting the Sun, which is but one of the 200,000,000,000 plus stars in the Milky Way galaxy, which is but one of over 125,000,000,000 galaxies in the universe?”

Erin sighed, “You’ve all seen the video, so why ask me questions you already know the answer to?”

“A simple yes or no will suffice, thank you. And did this person present you with an offer to change your insignificance?”

“Yes.”

“Did the offer contain information of the existence of a spot on the planet, a crater in which nothing grows and nothing lives, a place cursed since the creation of humankind, and hidden in the blindspot of all living creatures, so that no one, no thing can ever find or visit it, for it contains a pathway that leads to the first gate of hell?”

“Yes.”

“Were you told that you could be put in charge of this spot?”

“Yes.”

“Were you told that with the simple touch of a button, you could destroy the crater and seal off the entryway to hell? Choke off the evil that emanates from that pathway, which infects the hearts and minds of humankind with hatred and war?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“And in return for your service, were you advised that you would be granted a wish?”

“Yes.”

“Did a button appear on your touch screen?”

“Yes.”

“Did you press it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Erin paused, her eyes searching for an answer in the tiles of the ceiling. “You know, I wish I could answer that. I thought the whole thing was a joke that my husband or one of his friends was pulling on me. They’ve all got weird senses of humor like that. So, I played along with it to see what the punchline was. So I asked puppet-head, ‘And you can grant me this power? You, the strange puppet person too afraid to show your own face or speak in your real voice?'”

“And puppet-head’s response?”

Erin’s eyes returned to meet Gray’s. “‘Firstly, the power comes from far beyond, and I merely have the authority to open a channel for you to receive this gift. Second, the hiding of my true nature is for your benefit, for your eyes could not bear to look upon my countenance, nor your ears hear my voice, without experiencing madness.'”

“Like an angel?”

“Like the shadow side of The Unknowable, puppet-head said.”

Gray sighed, as if absorbing the weight of her words. “That was when you pushed the button?”

“No, first I asked, ‘And I’m just supposed to take your word for it? Without any proof?’ To which puppet-head answered, ‘You breathe without proof of air, do you not?’ And I was getting bored by that point, so that’s when I pushed the button.”

Gray flipped off the recorder, his face unreadable. “Mrs. Kamoche, your decision has far-reaching implications, implications we are just beginning to understand.”

Erin felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “So what happens now?”

“We wait,” Gray said cryptically. “We wait and watch as the world changes or doesn’t change. As for you, your life, too, is now an unfolding mystery.”

Gray stood up, leaving Erin alone in the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, she pondered the weight of her choice. Had she really sealed off a gateway to hell or simply fallen victim to a sick prank? Only time would tell, but for the first time in her life, Erin Kamoche felt anything but insignificant.

The room suddenly went dark, plunging Erin into shadows. An eerie silence enveloped the space, stretching each second into a lifetime. Was this the beginning of her reward or punishment? The answer, like the room itself, remained shrouded in darkness.

Erin was left pondering whether the power she’d been given—or perhaps unleashed—was a gift or a curse. The room remained silent, as if holding its breath, waiting for what would happen next.

Not. The. End.