your life, and nothing else — Lionstooth
I don’t think that I was quite the right audience for this game- in that liminal horror in of itself, while fun to toy around with as an additional element to a larger work, in of itself, doesn’t quite compel me. In cases where it has worked, it’s typically a result of inverting the horror into not being of their surroundings, but of the protagonist’s emotional vulnerability when permanently surrounded by reminders of how lonely they are, and wondering what happened to other people- both the ones they left behind, and those they will never meet.
It’s for that reason that level -69 of the backrooms, for example, is more compelling to me than one that has explicitly hostile entities and you cowering in your car: wandering safe, but devoid of life asphalt highways endlessly, surrounded by the implication that many people once travelled here, had lives to go from and get to- lovers at home, children to tuck into bed, a workplace to grind out the day alongside coworkers: people who would have, should have, maybe do still- miss them. (And the personal fear of becoming forgotten, or lost, just like them.) It’s much less scary to be scrambling around to avoid hostile entities, rather than being haunted by the reminder that you are so terribly alone. Easier not to think about the long term repercussions when you’re fighting for your life. (The real horror creeps in when you think that you’re safe.)
That being said, when looking at this in the light of a game that is trying to use liminal horror, I think it did a pretty good job of that. I especially liked the detail about the fridge inexplicably being re-stocked, and the disorientation of the stairs not lining up as they ought to in terms of distance travelled: small blips on an everyday radar that more subtly hint that something is amiss, than the bizarre labels on the mailbox.
I was a little unclear towards the later half of the story what precisely was going on- though I think this was meant to be a nod to the underworld, (given Asphodel being mentioned in the name of the apartment complex, the inability to leave the actual building all of these people are trapped inside of,) and that the mention of the wolf is supposed to be representative of Cerebus? Personally, the transition between hints of things being slightly off kilter, and escalating into full bore survival horror, did not really work for me- it felt a bit jarringly rushed.
I always like games where you can be nice towards the NPCs, though, so bonus points for being able to get your neighbours a glass of water from the nice dispenser, or fruit for your other one across the hall. One of the more effective moments of horror here for me was when she was shovelling rotten fruit into her mouth- gnashing up chunks of mould and rot is gross and scary, but also ties in well with the protagonist’s implied disordered eating as a reflection of their own troubled relationship with food (as hinted at with the fridge and such- it felt like a good conveyance that built on the character in an organic way, with their not wanting to eat breakfast like, ever, even though the others do and request snacks and such.)
If you like liminal horror, and find the joy in those pieces specifically in their exploration of an area’s liminality, I think you will really like this one.