This is sort of Twilight Zone-ish in that something’s going on that the town all knows about and is plotting for while the narrator is rather oblvious to the situation.
Even before Jakob Kanitz had finished speaking, a low assenting murmur had started up and more than one person had pushed reproachfully the shoulder of the young councillor–by this point shamefacedly shuffly his feet. Jakob Kanitz’s departure from the stage had been followed by a few seconds of awkward silence. Then, steadily, conversation had broken out around the room, with everywhere people discussing in serious but calm tones what should be done once Brodsky arrived. (p 129)
The reader is by now aware that the town’s life more than livelihood is, by tradition, dependent upon a singularly exceptional musician. Evidently they have made mistakes in some of their choices, and all must be replaced eventually by nature’s own course. These people are wined and dined and fine-tuned by at least a contingent of officials during their period of reign.
Yeah, that’s Twilight Zone if not Stephen King and the Corn Queen.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology