Use the WASD keys to navigate your character, move the mouse to adjust your view, press Space to jump, tap E for interactions, hold Left Ctrl to crouch, and press Q to toggle the visibility of puzzles or switch camera modes.
The silence in your house has grown teeth. They bite every time you pass your daughter’s empty room or catch the ghost of your wife’s perfume lingering in the hallway. You don’t remember them leaving. You don’t remember *anything*—just fragments: a slammed door, a shattered photo frame, a voice (yours?) shouting *wait* into the dark. Now there’s only static where their faces should be. Maybe you let them down. Maybe you *hurt* them. Or maybe none of this is real. The lines between guilt and delusion blur here, sharp as broken glass. You’ve started seeing symbols—three of them, carved into doorframes, flickering on the edges of screens. A coiled serpent. A bleeding eye. A key wrapped in thorns. The first two feel like warnings. Touch them, and the walls *breathe*. The air hums with whispers that sound like her, like *her*, like accusations. But that third symbol… it doesn’t fit. It’s quieter. Older. When you focus on it, the static parts just enough to glimpse something else—a hallway that wasn’t there before, a laughter you don’t recognize. It doesn’t want to punish you. It wants you to *follow*. But down here, even hope wears a stranger’s face.
This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website Learn more