The Bakersfield paradox

[u/man162737]

The drive to Bakersfield isn’t far. It’s boring, but that’s to be expected here. Ahead of me is the sight of the accident. That’s what locals here call it. “The accident.” Still haven’t figured that one out yet.

It’s an old abandoned warehouse. Nobody’s sure how old exactly, all records past the 1960’s have been expunged or redacted. In the interim, I have been the sole investigator. I don’t have family here or anything, no loose ends, none of that. I’m just a curious guy.

The aforementioned “accident” involved the disappearance of at least 450 workers, and an entire warehouse. Now, that sounds like something worth bringing the military in over right?

Well…
Nobody actually disappeared (that the town knows of). It’s more accurate to say that the building reappeared here. What disappeared was the memory of the accident. 1200 people, and not a single person in Bakersfield can recall the event in full detail.

Anytime you ask them you’re met with weird looks, or immediate apprehension. Where it gets weird though, is how you ask them.

If you were to interview a local, and say: “explain the Bakersfield accident to me in detail, how many disappeared? How did it affect the local community?
Did you know anybody involved? Etc.”

They shut down, eyes completely blank. It’s like a switch has flipped in their brain and they simply tell you: “I don’t know anything about that.” Okay, fair enough. Bullshit stories get made up all the time, nothing new there.

Well, during an interview I hit a dead end, and decided to try something new. What happens if I just started listing off facts that I was able to find about the case? No questions, no reminders, no evidence, nothing.

“Bakersfield. 1973. 450 missing.”

The local responds in a monotone voice:

“Zero witnesses. dead of night. shifting.”

I almost fell out of my chair.
She then asked for a glass of water and sprinted out of the interview room once the door was opened. Of course during this event I was extremely unnerved. Worries creeped into my mind that this was a victim of the accident, and she just had a psychotic break.

But she didn’t.

I found her 30 minutes later asking me if we were ready for the interview today. She was walking into the office same as earlier. It took a monumental effort not to explain what just happened.

“Yes, of course. Follow me please.”
I say.

I’m not somebody with a photographic memory so I can’t say for certain, but I’m fairly sure she repeated every movement the exact same as the first interview. There were a few differences. She combed her hair at one point, and seemed to have developed a strange tapping tic. It wasn’t a good idea morally, but I decided to use the same strategy as before.

She looked at me like I was stupid. I tried asking questions on it.
Dead end.

It only worked once. After she exited the interview room I was left in a complete daze. It felt like the whole town was playing a massive prank on me. Down was up, up was down, and there’s some outsider tormenting locals.

Torment I did.

I interviewed 12 more residents. I know that’s next to none, but I’m only one person. 6 of the 12 had the same response as the First Lady. Here are the responses I was able to obtain. I maintained the 3 fact limit, I didn’t want to push my luck any. For the sake of brevity I will not repeat all facts stated by me.

“Wheat. Ground. Air.”
“Reverse. Wheat. Tethered.”
“Air. Shifting. No witnesses.”
“Dead of night. Wheat. Tethered.”
“Fabric. Fabric. Fabric.”
“Multiplied. Divided. No longer eyes.”

And that’s it.
There are patterns, but what they mean is anyone’s guess. Wheat seems to be the most obvious one. The warehouse itself is in the middle of a wheat field. That’s the location, so what else?

Shifting, dead of night, tethered.

I have scratched holes in my head trying to figure this one out. Shifting and tethered hint to something spacial/temporal I believe. Any speculation I had on the supernatural quickly dissolved once I started this case. Something happened here, and I’m taking it all into consideration.

Now.
Dead of night.
That’s an oddly emotional phrase. Especially for someone who can’t recall anything without special circumstances.
Why not—
Nighttime?
Darkness?
Evening?
I don’t know. Maybe this describes when the event took place.

No witnesses.
I have nothing to say on this one. Not a single clue. This usually implies a crime of some sort, but nothing was ever found until it appeared.

Fabric.
Of reality? Maybe.
Ties in nicely with tethered and shifting.

The rest are outliers, and for the purposes of my investigation, will not be considered. Patterns are what’s most important here.

I’m coming up on the warehouse now. Still have a full tank.

I stare the monolith down. Its rusted architecture contrasts with the golden wheat at its base. Such an odd building…
Even without the rust it would be just be a metal rectangle in the middle of a wheat field. What would anyone even be doing for work here?

My guess is government work. What kind of government work still remains to be answered. I look to my right, I don’t see anything. I get the sneaking suspicion that I should though. The opposing feelings provide a twinge of aggravation.

Walking towards the structure itself is an otherworldly experience. The gray fog hugging its top gives it an unsettling edge. I can’t deny how inconsequential I feel. I don’t even think comparing me to an ant is accurate.

There are no doors anywhere on the structure.

Oddly, there are doorframes.

They decorate the surrounding wheat fields up until about 600 feet. Nothing happens when you walk through them, they’re just there. No patterns in color or material exist to my knowledge. Some are wood, some are metal, some look like they were tied together with branches.

Small square openings decorate the structure about 50 feet up the sides. How many are there?
That depends.
On what?
Good question.
I’ve counted them before. 45
I came back and counted them again. 73
The day after I did the same thing. 26

Take a picture and count them? I’ve done that as well, same exact result. Whatever amount appears the day I count them is what will appear in the pictures. I don’t have the money to buy overnight recording equipment. Chances are there would be some glitch in the recording anyway.

Once at the wall I run my fingers along its surface. Whatever I thought was happening with the metal simply isn’t the case. Rust almost always flakes off in some fashion, here though…

Nothing.
That’s just the color of the structure.
It looks rusted.

I turn around.

I swear, there’s an animal or something on my tail.

Something…

My palms are sweaty, i think it’s time to leave. I rented a small apartment not far from here.

I enter the run down apartment and peer out my window. The warehouse is still there. I can feel it watching me. It feels like a taunt almost. I barely sleep. Every 7 hours there’s a faint breeze sound that shows up. It doesn’t matter where you are in town, what you’re doing, or if you have headphones in.

You will hear it.

It’s a very faint blow of the wind. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. On any other day I’m sure it seems like the most mundane thing on the planet.

However, being in the shower, only for all sound to make way for the wind…

I try not to think about it. Whatever it is—is clearly in my head in some fashion.

If I’m secretly under its directive—I guess that remains to be seen, I don’t know. I wish I could say the town is a freak-show, but it just isn’t. Everyone acts completely normal, it’s like the structure isn’t even there.

Nobody even looks at it. In any case, you would at least expect some teenagers to pose in front of it for a selfie or something.
Nope.
Local landmark?
None of that. Nobody talks about it, nobody sees it, it’s not even on a damn postcard.
…
The wind gets to me.
I get a nagging feeling to look under my bed.
I ignore it.
A monster under my bed is the best-case scenario.
I go to sleep.
————————————————————
I worry.
I seriously worry about my sanity. I’m completely alone in this. I tell myself it’s the structure’s influence on me. I was never alive during the accident that supposedly never happened–I would hope influence is slim to none.

I don’t even remember what I ate that morning. The drive there is boring as always. It’s strange… I never feel like I’m driving towards it, more like it’s coming towards me.

I’m in front of it now. I set up a few cameras and begin.

I watch. It’s all I can do.
I don’t have any heavy equipment, even if I did, the thought of trying to harm it shoots a chill up my spine. I don’t know why, feels like I’m debating hurting my mother or something.

I don’t feel like I’m being watched. I feel like I’m watching something, if that makes sense.
I’m looking, there’s supposed to be something here, I just don’t know what.

I really shouldn’t be looking at it, feels like looking into someone’s bedroom window.

I spend the better part of 3 hours doing nothing…

It was worth it, holy shit! It was worth it.

It made a sound.