Cold open (60 seconds, verbatim)
[SOUND of waves crashing against rocks, distant seagulls]
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The light in the tower had been dead for three days. Now, the fog rolls in thick and heavy, swallowing the whole coastline. And something else moves in the fog. Something that wasn't there before. Something that watches. Something that waits.
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[SOUND of a door creaking open slowly]
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They said the lighthouse at Punta Brava was haunted. But they never told us why the keeper went mad. Or what he kept locked in the basement.
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This is Originality. Where stories come to life.
Intro (45 seconds)
Welcome to Originality, the podcast that brings you illustrated short stories from indie author Daniel Jaimes. Each episode, we'll dive into a new world—whether it's the chilling horror of a forgotten lighthouse, the magical realism of a boy who counts stars, or the dark fantasy of a kingdom crowned in ash.
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Right here, you can always enjoy Part One of each story for free. But if you love what you hear, the complete illustrated PDF is available for just $2.99, with instant download. Dive deeper into these worlds, see the art that brings them to life, and support indie storytelling at its finest.
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Today, we're heading to a desolate coastline, to a tower that guards more than just ships from the rocks.
The read (8 minutes)
[SOUND of waves, steady and rhythmic]
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The Lighthouse at Punta Brava stood as a solitary sentinel against the relentless sea. Its stone base had been weathered by a hundred years of salt spray and storms, while its white tower stretched toward the indifferent sky. For decades, its beam had been the only constant companion to the sailors navigating the treacherous waters nearby.
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But three days ago, the light died.
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Not a flicker, not a dimming. Just silence. Darkness.
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Elias Thorne, the keeper, hadn't been seen since. The supplies he ordered monthly still sat on the dock, untouched. The boat he used to row ashore was still moored, its rope frayed but secure.
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[PAUSE for 5 seconds]
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Today, I was sent to find out what happened.
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The ferry dropped me at the base of the cliff, and the walk up was steep, the path overgrown with weeds that hadn't been trimmed in years. The lighthouse loomed above me, its windows like vacant eyes.
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The main door was unlocked.
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[SOUND of door creaking]
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Inside, the air was thick with dust and the smell of damp. The spiral staircase that wound up the center of the tower was steep, each step worn smooth by generations of keepers' feet.
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The living quarters were sparse but clean. A bed, a desk, a stove. Everything in its place. Except for one thing.
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More free reading on Originality
Weekly Planner Board — Originality Productivity App — read it free at /p/app-weekly-planner-board-originality-productivity-app
Directorio de Canales — podcasts, comunidades, listas y puertas de sindicación — read it free at /p/directorio-de-canales