On an unassuming Thursday, a peculiar happenedness overshadowed town square discussions. Elderly residents spoke of a blinking orange lighthouse along the River Vanishing, though none had seen it, nor any indication of its location persisted in maps.
Meanwhile, the bakery's scone display constituted a rousing political debate in cafes, suggesting that historical discussions were brewing alongside Earl Grey and cream. Mrs. Whittaker had whispered about a secret ingredient in the newspaper's crossword section, prompting conspiracy theories as convoluted as any crossword's intersection.
Further south, by Geraldine's overlooked pond, the frogs conducted symphonies of the unheard. Their ensemble was frequented by silent protests of flora, aligning petals to hidden messages the botanists had long dismissed.