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Holy mother of slop, what is this... abomination. It's ridiculous that the developer normally charges money for it. I'm genuinely impressed how redundant and void of any fun such a short game can be.

I don’t even know where to begin with *Depths Of Horror: Mushroom Day*, a game that somehow manages to redefine what it means to be both “depthless” and “horrifying,” though not in the way anyone involved in its creation likely intended. I went into this experience expecting at least a baseline level of spooky atmosphere, maybe a few clever mechanics, perhaps even a mushroom or two that would evoke some kind of fungal dread. What I got instead was a chaotic, bewildering descent into what feels like an unfinished fever dream cobbled together during a power outage while someone’s keyboard was actively rebelling against them.

First of all, the premise. “Mushroom Day.” What does that even mean? Is it a holiday? A ritual? A fungal uprising? The game never decides, and instead throws you into what appears to be a damp cave, or possibly a poorly lit basement, or maybe just a gray void textured with something that resembles overcooked lasagna. Within minutes, you are introduced to mushrooms—if we’re being generous and calling them that. They look like someone tried to describe mushrooms over the phone to a 3D modeler who had never seen one and refused to use reference images out of spite.

The horror elements? Nonexistent. Or rather, they exist in the same way a single raisin in a loaf of bread “exists.” You might occasionally hear a sound—something between a squeaky door and a confused duck—but it’s unclear whether this is meant to scare you or if the game itself is just struggling to function. At one point, a mushroom “jump-scared” me by slowly rotating in my direction over the course of 12 seconds. I had enough time to question my life choices, make a sandwich, and come back before it finished turning.

Let’s talk about the gameplay, which I assume was included as a formality. Movement feels like you’re piloting a shopping cart with three broken wheels across a surface made of melted soap. The controls are so unresponsive that I briefly considered whether the game was turn-based and just forgot to tell me. Interacting with objects is a gamble; sometimes you press a button and something happens, sometimes nothing happens, and sometimes the game audibly sighs (I swear it did) and crashes.

The puzzles, if that’s what they are, seem to have been designed by someone who believes logic is a social construct. One puzzle required me to collect five glowing spores and place them into what I can only describe as a suspiciously judgmental rock. However, after collecting four spores, the fifth one vanished, reappeared behind me, and then launched itself into the sky like it had somewhere better to be. I spent 20 minutes chasing it before realizing the game had simply given up on me.

Graphically, the game is an enigma. Textures pop in and out of existence like they’re playing hide-and-seek, lighting flickers as if powered by a haunted candle, and shadows behave like they’re trying to escape their responsibilities. At one point, my character’s arm stretched across the entire screen and began clipping through reality itself, which was arguably the most immersive part of the experience because it accurately reflected how I felt mentally.

The sound design deserves special mention, mostly because it sounds like it was recorded inside a hollow coconut. Footsteps echo inconsistently, ambient noises loop awkwardly, and the “music” (again, using that term loosely) is a repetitive droning hum that made me question whether my speakers were broken or if I had accidentally summoned something.

And then there’s the story. Or at least, the vague suggestion that a story might have existed at some point before being abandoned like a forgotten grocery list. You occasionally find notes scattered around, written in a font that seems specifically designed to be unreadable. The few lines I could decipher mentioned something about “the great mushroom awakening,” which raises more questions than it answers, none of which the game has any interest in addressing.

By the time I reached what I think was the ending—my screen faded to black and then stayed that way indefinitely—I felt less like I had completed a game and more like I had survived an ordeal. There were no credits, no closure, just silence and the faint hum of my own disappointment.

In conclusion, *Depths Of Horror: Mushroom Day* is not just a bad horror game; it is an experience that transcends traditional definitions of “bad” and enters a realm of abstract confusion. It is a game that dares to ask, “What if nothing made sense, nothing worked, and nothing was scary?” and then answers that question with unwavering commitment. I cannot recommend it to anyone, unless you are conducting a scientific study on how long a person can endure nonsense before losing their grip on reality. In that case, this might just be your perfect specimen.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ game i've ever played, the dialogue is google translated and the game feels like it was made in a day