▲▲▲ Honest Opinions Needed ▲▲▲

Ok y’all—this is not a drill. I need your eyes, your thoughts, your gut reactions, and your brutal (but kind, please) honesty. What do you think of this beach photo?

Not just “oh that’s nice,” but do you feel it in your soul?

Does it whisper to your inner beach bum?

Does it make you want to leave it all behind and open a sandal shop with questionable hours?

Because here’s the thing…

This photo started something.

At first, it was just a picture. A peaceful moment frozen in time. But then it got under my skin—in the best way. It became a sticker. Then a magnet. And then one night—possibly mid existential snack break—it sparked a thought:

“Wait. What if this… became a jigsaw puzzle?”

That one thought cracked something open. And before I knew it, I had seventeen of my most beloved, most bizarre, most emotionally-charged original photos lined up and practically begging to become puzzles. FIVE are already in production (scroll down to see!) and the rest are waiting in the wings, sharpening their edges, and preparing to make your coffee table their home.

They’re not just puzzles. They’re stories. Portals. Cardboard fever dreams.

And yeah, I know that sounds dramatic—because it is.

But now that we’ve set the mood… let’s talk about how I accidentally became the unofficial lighthouse keeper of my apartment complex.

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THE FLASHLIGHT INCIDENTS.

Every night, without fail, I wake up around 3am for a totally standard, unremarkable trip to the bathroom. But my phone—traitorous, glowing companion that it is—has other plans. In my sleepy state, I grab it to check the time. Instead of a calm glance at the clock, my thumb aggressively and unerringly slams the bottom right of my lock screen.

Flashlight: ON. Full power. No mercy.

The room is instantly flooded with light, like I’m being abducted by a low-budget alien race with no chill. My cat jolts. My ceiling fan spins harder than usual. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm goes off. I see a version of myself reflected in the mirror that I never want to meet again.

And it happens nightly.

But here’s the thing: I’m grateful.

Because if the camera and flashlight icons were switched?

Oh… oh no.

My camera roll would be a horror film. Blurry night goblins. Ceiling corners. A cryptid made of pillows and regret. Maybe a rogue nipple. There’d be no coming back from that.

Instead, I’ve simply become… The Light.

Which brings us to the weird stuff.

It started small. A misplaced object here. A faint sigh that I assumed was my cat but may have been Carol’s ghost aunt. I brushed it off—until my upstairs neighbor, Carol (84, clairvoyant energy, possibly ran a coven in the 60s), left a note on my door. It simply said:

“Have you considered sage.”

No greeting. No punctuation. Just a spiritual mic drop.

Then came Greg from 3A. He asked if I was “communing.” I said, “No, I’m just peeing.” He squinted at me and muttered, “That’s how it begins.”

Suddenly, I was The Beacon.

I started finding offerings outside my door. A tea light candle. A smooth river rock. And then—a half-eaten biscotti. Not just any biscotti. Lemon almond. The good kind. One thoughtful bite taken, then left with quiet reverence. That’s not just an offering—that’s a message. That’s ghost language for, “You’re doing great, sweetie.”

The courtyard got weird after that.

I once opened my blinds to find seven neighbors standing in a circle. Holding hands. Staring directly at my window in silent anticipation like they were trying to summon something—or stop something. I asked what they were waiting for. One woman whispered, “She said it would happen at 3:07.”

It was 3:06.

Carol now introduces me to guests as “The Nightlight Medium of 3B.” I’ve received anonymous notes that say things like “Tell her I’m listening” and “The mirror is a door.” I just wanted to pee, man.

One neighbor asked me if I could “speak to the veil.” I said, “I don’t even know how to use Google Docs.”

There was talk of me starting a ghost tour. People suggested cloaks. One guy offered to bring dry ice.

And look—I’m not saying I believe in ghosts. But I’m also not saying I don’t.

All I know is that the flashlight, once a blinding nuisance, has become part of my ritual. My legend. My lore. And like any good lore, it has grown larger than life. It’s the reason neighbors nod solemnly when I pass. It’s why someone slipped a hand-drawn sigil under my mat. It’s why my cat no longer reacts to anything after 2am.

So yes, thank the tech gods the camera isn’t on the right side of the lock screen.

Because while the flashlight may summon Greg and confuse my houseplants, at least it doesn’t record my soul leaving my body mid-yawn.

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And now, you’re part of the story. If you’re still reading, you’re no longer just a casual browser. You’re a Level 14 Lore Keeper with bonus perception and an increased chance of witnessing the unexplained.

You’re the kind of person who finishes a 2000-piece puzzle and immediately starts another. You snack, you sip, you dive back in. You’re my people.

The adventure of crafting this story, loosely (and I mean LOOSELY, like held together by one piece of chewed gum and a paperclip) based on actual events, happened between 11pm and 3am on a Thursday night.

Yes, there were edibles involved. Yes, they sparked the vision. No regrets.

Some things are true. I do have a flashlight problem. Carol is real and may or may not be a witch. Though she is not my 84 year old neighbor but my aunt who lives on the other side of the country.

The biscotti? 100% factual. I took a photo. (Maybe it'll be a puzzle)

The rest? A chaotic blend of memory, mayhem, and “what if that had happened?”

The line between truth and fiction here is blurrier than a 3am selfie, and that’s exactly how I like it.

Yes, there were edibles involved. Yes, they sparked the vision. No regrets.

Thank you—truly—to those of you who read, support, laugh, share, and believe in me.

You are the puzzle piece that fits perfectly into this weird and wonderful picture.

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BUT WAIT—THE STORY’S BIGGER THAN PUZZLES.

We’re building something here.

This is just the beginning.

P and T’z Baked Puzzles isn’t just a puzzle shop—it’s a launchpad for all things strange, heartfelt, and creatively unhinged.

Coming soon:

The Loyalty Club (get all 17 limited edition puzzles!)

Monthly drops

Limited runs

Stories, blog posts, art, stickers, more weird merch than you probably need. But you DO need it.

And possibly…ghost tours. Or at least shirts that say “I peed with The Beacon.”

P.S. Every Friday, I’ll be dropping a new blog post featuring a completely unhinged story paired with a totally unrelated photo. Why? Because chaos is the glue that holds this puzzle together.

Come for the mystery. Stay for the mayhem. Laugh, gasp, maybe question reality a little—and then tell a friend.

Sign up for the newsletter when it drops to join the ride. The weirdness is only going to get weirder.

And like my flashlight at 3:04am—

It’s your time to shine.

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Ready to start puzzling?

Visit the shop and check out the first five designs at:

https://p-and-tz-baked-puzzles.printify.me/

Let’s build something—one bizarre piece at a time.