Apartment Complex is a short and free-to-download narrative exploration game set in a mostly abandoned apartment building. The only human occupants of this building are its two landlords. You play as one of the owners, who is middle-aged, jobless, and depressed. In an effort to do something with his life, your character takes it upon himself to check in with the tenants, who are not even remotely human.
The game only takes about twenty minutes to play, and the gameplay consists of walking through the three-story building and talking to the tenants. Just to put this out on front street, Apartment Complex has a message, and that message is that landlords are bad. I don’t disagree, but the game isn’t shy about being didactic. Putting the armchair Marxism aside, the writing is a lot of fun.
Each of the eight tenants (inasmuch as they can be counted) is a Lovecraftian monstrosity that defies Euclidean logic but still needs a place to stay on this particular plane of reality. Perhaps because of his depression, your character isn’t the least bit bothered by the ontology of these beings. Regardless of whether he’s talking to the fungus-infested remains of the former co-landlord, a divorced dad with multiple alligator mouths, or a colossal all-seeing eye of the abyss, this guy takes each of these conversations in stride.
And honestly, this is such a mood. I get it. Sanity-altering cosmic abnormalities are a dime a dozen, but you know what’s really fucked up? The unequal distribution of wealth across class lines. Again, Apartment Complex has a message, but it’s not wrong.
Also, given that the creator is only twenty years old, I admire the accuracy of the game’s portrayal of the jaded middle-aged mindset. Like does it really matter that your neighbor is an eldritch abomination who exists in the shadows of reality? Does it even matter.
Where Apartment Complex shines is the boldness and creativity of its 16-bit pixel art. The floorplan and room layouts of the building are bog-standard, but the way each tenant occupies the space has to be seen to be believed. If you’ve ever wondered just how weird Earthbound-style graphics can get, this game is for you. The character portraits displayed during conversations are incredible.
From its eye-catching color palette to the dry tone of its absurdist humor, Apartment Complex makes me nostalgic for Welcome to Night Vale in the best possible way. This is a chill and fantastically creative game about monster friends and postmodern malaise, and honestly? It’s super relatable.
Betwixt: A Manga Horror Anthology, edited by Fawn Lau and Mayuko Hirao A diverse collection of big-name creators showcasing manga-style stories that focus on urban legends and folk horror.
Bloodborne: The Healing Thirst, by Ales Kot and Piotr Kowalski A stand-alone story that captures the oppressive gothic atmosphere of Bloodborne while being accessible to readers with no knowledge of the game.
The Crossroads at Midnight, by Abby Howard A single-artist collection of queer short stories with distinctive monochromatic art and intensely disturbing imagery.
The Hills of Estrella Roja, by Ashley Robin Franklin A lushly illustrated graphic novel about a college student on the hunt for cryptids in the beautiful but eerie Texas desert.
Loving, Ohio, by Matthew Erman and Sam Beck A suburban gothic horror story about a small town quietly controlled by an all-too-realistic cult.
Not Drunk Enough, by Tess Stone A colorful and stylish horror comedy about being trapped in a mad science corporation after dark.
PTSD Radio, by Masaaki Nakayama A quiet but intensely creepy collection of Japanese urban legends loosely connected by an overarching narrative.
The Shadow over Innsmouth, by Gou Tanabe A painstakingly faithful Lovecraft adaptation with meticulously drafted art and a well-researched translation.
You can check out the fully annotated list (here). There are a lot of famous heavy hitters on this list, and it was a pleasure to be able to include a few lesser-known manga and indie graphic novels.
Norco is a cross between a visual novel and a point-and-click adventure game that takes seven hours to play. The game is set in a near-future version of New Orleans and its surrounding bayou. Despite its lowkey cyberpunk elements, the future envisioned by the game isn’t all that different from the present. Norco is gorgeously well-written and intriguingly grounded in the specificity of its setting, and the various small stories it encompasses are filled with fascinating characters and meaningful human drama.
I want to focus on what’s interesting about this game. That being said, Norco can be frustrating, so let me get this out of the way: most of the adventure game elements of Norco are bad. The puzzles (such as they are) are poorly executed and annoying. There’s at least one instance of turn-based combat per act, and it’s not great. Also, the game takes a weird turn toward cosmic horror in the third and final act; and, in order to unlock a slightly more satisfying ending, you have to do a minor random thing in the second act that’s extremely easy to miss.
None of this is a deal breaker. Rather, I think it’s good to set expectations. Specifically, you should expect to use a walkthrough at some point. I actually ended up using three walkthroughs, as I found some of the adventure game sequences to be difficult to piece together. They’re not complicated; they’re just opaque. Thankfully, the more frustrating puzzles are few and far between, and you can play the vast majority of the game just fine on your own.
You begin Norco as a woman named Kay who returns home after her mother dies of cancer and her brother Blake stops replying to texts. Although Blake is nowhere to be found in or around the house, Kay is greeted by the family robot Million, a fugitive from the skirmishes between armed militias that have broken out across the southwest. Million suggests that she and Kay talk to people in the neighborhood to figure out where Blake has run off to.
The search for Blake is interrupted by extended flashback sequences in which you play as Kay’s mother Catherine. While her cancer is in remission, Catherine takes odd jobs on a Fivver-like platform called Superduck in order to pay off loans so her kids can keep the house after she dies. These jobs take Catherine across New Orleans and eventually lead her to an abandoned mall colonized by the teenage disciples of an internet demagogue by the name of Kenner John.
We’re introduced to Catherine as she allows a blandly anonymous tech corporation to make a neural map of her brain. In theory, the experimental procedure is compensated by the generation of an AI personality intended to help Catherine’s family process her death. In reality, Catherine needs the money. Immediately after her brain imaging session, she’s out in the city after dark running errands via the Superduck app.
Oddly enough, Superduck ends up being a real “person,” a branch of an AI personality based on Catherine’s friend Duck. Based on a story Catherine once told Duck, Superduck has figured out that an alien entity resides in the estuary of Lake Pontchartrain, and that it was captured by Kenner John.
Although the cyberpunk elements of Norco’s plot are fun, they’re not the real story. As Catherine, you play as a tired and washed-up adult using a rideshare service to get around town while trying to gather information from other tired adults who are just trying to make a living. It’s through these conversations that the player gets a sense of what New Orleans is like as a city, as well as a sense of how not even wealthy people who seem to be major players have any control over the environment. There are going to be hurricanes, and there are going to be floods, and neither oil companies nor tech companies can do anything about it.
What I appreciate about Norco is how realistic and grounded it is. As someone dealing with cancer, Catherine gets winded climbing stairs during one of the adventure game segments, and she’s okay with telling people that no, actually, she’s not fine and she needs a minute. Kenner John’s cultists are dumb kids (affectionate) who just want to hang out in an abandoned mall and smoke weed while playing video games. Even the MAGA-style militia members who make a brief appearance in the last act are heroic in their own deranged way, and the poor harassed public official who stays late in City Hall dealing with paperwork delivers a monologue about how you can’t save everyone that’s worthy of Shakespeare.
Despite the gritty setting of a city on its last legs and Norco’s complete lack of sentimentality, all of the characters are intensely human and sympathetic. They’re also quite funny, even when they’re at their lowest and most morally dubious. There’s one story about a guy who eats a hotdog from a food cart in a downtown tourist area that made me laugh so hard I cried. Norco tackles challenging themes, but it also manages to be pitch-perfect comedy storytelling. I really can’t overemphasize how brilliant the writing is.
Also, this is worth saying: As someone who grew up in the Deep South, I’m truly and deeply grateful that the script of this game uses an accurate representation of Southern AAVE. My promise to myself about Norco was that I would put the game down and walk away the second anyone said “y’all” or pulled some sort of X-Men Gambit bullshit, but I didn’t need to worry. Everyone talks like a normal person.
The basic gameplay of Norco consists of conversation-based fetch quests. Someone will tell you to talk to someone else, and you have to go find them. You do this by driving (or ordering an off-brand Uber) to take you to a point on a map of New Orleans, and from there you’ll navigate between four or five screens by clicking on various points of interest. Your objective is always clear, but there’s a lot of non-essential content to interact with. And it’s good to talk with everyone! What you’ll get as a reward for being curious is some of the best stand-up comedy you’ll ever read.
The adventure game puzzles are so deeply embedded in the action of the story that they’re difficult to describe without extensive plot summary. What makes the worst of them annoying is that they expect you to leave the game and write something down in real life. One of the more obnoxious of these puzzles involves numerology. I understand that this is a play on the weird Christian-themed numerology cults that have sprung up on YouTube and Facebook – one of my aunts got really into this during the pandemic, true story, and it’s batshit insane – but it’s still a pain to put down the game and go get a piece of paper.
One of the interactive elements of the game that actually works well occupies a large portion of the third act. The Surprise Big Bad antagonist has gotten an offshoot of the Kenner John cult to build a spaceship on the bayou, and Kay needs to go out and find the site by navigating through the swamp in a small boat on a 4-bit pixelated sonar screen. There are all sorts of fun things to find out on the water, and this segment is enhanced by an atmospheric lead-up that includes an interesting lesson in natural history concerning why the topography of the bayou is so treacherous even though it looks like open water.
At the conclusion of the end credits, Norco provides a list of books and documentaries that the developers used as references. I was so drawn into the real-world history presented by Norco that I immediately screencapped this list. I got started on following up with these references by watching a documentary called Mossville: When the Great Trees Fall, and it’s almost painfully apparent that the creators of Norco were pulling inspiration from serious ongoing issues. It’s amazing that they were able to take such heavy material and transform it into something so gorgeously strange and entertaining.
Although Norco isn’t as mechanically robust as Disco Elysium, it’s easily in the same category of excellent writing and unique visual stylization. I somehow got the impression that this game would be all doom and gloom about poverty and injustice, but it’s actually a genuinely funny dark comedy about a cast of characters whom I grew to love despite (and often because of) their flaws and bad behavior.
She Came from the Stars is a speculative minicomic fanzine that reimagines the myths and lore surrounding gods and mortals in the Legend of Zelda games.
Hyrule is dystopian, and its goddess Hylia is more than a little scary. In a country ruled by a hierophant queen, what does it mean to be an outsider? Perhaps, before he became a demon, Ganondorf may have once seen himself as a hero…
I had a horrible thought about the Legend of the Zelda mythology the other day. Demise’s curse supposedly follows the bloodline of the goddess Hylia, so all she needs to do to release Hyrule from an endless cycle of destruction is to stop reincarnating as a mortal. Why she insists on being reincarnated isn’t clear, but Skyward Sword strongly suggests that it’s because she loves Link so much. This is a little creepy…
…but I have nothing but unironic respect for ancient deities who behave like teenage girls!
Once I started thinking about Hylia being creepy, all sorts of interesting possibilities presented themselves. What if Hylia isn’t just a “goddess,” but also completely inhuman? What if she isn’t a sky goddess, but a being from beyond the sky? And what if it’s not necessarily Link she loved, but Hyrule? The idea of an eldritch cosmic entity who wants to become human because she loves the earth is beautiful. It’s also romantic, sort of like The Little Mermaid but endlessly apocalyptic.
Then I started thinking about the Sheikah, the group of people who have historically served Hyrule’s royal family from the shadows. In Breath of the Wild, the ancient Sheikah built incredibly sophisticated technology that is completely at odds with the otherwise medieval world of the game. In addition, their technology also features cosmic and sidereal motifs. What if the Sheikah always knew what Hylia was?
I was partially inspired by (this) comic about how potentially creepy Hylia is in Skyward Sword, and by (this) illustration of Zelda as subtly but undeniably monstrous. I’m fascinated by darker interpretations of the Legend of Zelda universe, and I would love to see more horror-themed Zelda art in the world. While I’m waiting for the sequel to Breath of the Wild to be released, I figured that I might as well create some myself.
Frankiesbugs is one of my all-time favorite horror artists, and I was beyond thrilled when she accepted my commission to draw this comic. She had the brilliant idea to model Hylia on Ebrietas from Bloodborne, who bears the sobriquet “Daughter of the Cosmos” and is theorized to have enabled the dystopian world of the game because of her desire to coexist with humans. Frankiesbugs also drew a connection between the iconic eye motif of the Sheikah and the possibility of Hylia having multiple eyes as someone who watches the earth from the skies – or as someone who always keeps watch over her chosen hero.
Waking Nightmare is a free homebrew Game Boy horror game in which you navigate a short and simple maze. Every dead end presents you with a nightmare scenario and the notification that you’ve woken up, thus restarting the maze. The game moves very quickly, and each dead end is creative and worth the trouble of discovering. The game also marks every dead end that you’ve already seen twice in order to minimize frustration.
When you make it through the maze, you’re presented with a series of dialog choices that determine one of three endings. The maze layout doesn’t change, so it’s easy to finish the game and see all three endings in about fifteen minutes. The maze screens look like something a kid would build on a graphing calculator, and the gritty lo-fi pixel art is great, especially for the three closing screens. Apparently this is all text art, or “textmode” art, which the creator explains on their website (here). This website is just as interesting as the game itself, and I recommend checking it out if you’re interested in internet art history.
I was never a big fan of first-person maze games, but I’m glad I gave Waking Nightmare a chance. It’s visually distinctive, it makes excellent use of its medium, and the music will definitely get stuck in your head.
Digital Fantasy Diary 