Game description:
In Digging Hours, you arrive at a remote field under a dim sky, given one task: dig up two marked graves. You're accompanied by another figure, silent and focused, whose presence feels more like surveillance than support. The air is thick, not with danger, but with hesitation. There are no briefings, no backstory—just a shovel, a body-shaped outline in the dirt, and the understanding that this is something that should not be disturbe.
Minimal Controls, Maximum Tension
The controls are straightforward: move, interact, sprint, and swing. But the simplicity hides the weight of every motion. Every dig sounds too loud. Every step feels watched. As you go deeper, the world becomes unstable—not through obvious threats, but through its refusal to stay still. Sounds loop unevenly. Shapes at the edge of the screen flicker. And that person digging beside you? They stop moving when you look too long.
Gameplay and Design Features
Focused gameplay lasting under 15 minutes No dialogue, no text prompts—only task and space Use of shadows, distance, and audio to drive suspense Interaction with environment limited to essential movements Unsettling visual shifts that intensify over time
Escalation Without Explanation
The further the graves are disturbed, the more the world reacts. Trees bend oddly. Footsteps echo behind yours, but don’t match your rhythm. Tools fall but don’t land. There are no direct confrontations, yet something grows closer. The player isn’t told who the bodies are, or why the digging matters, but the pressure builds with every scoop of dirt. The second grave feels heavier than the first, both in weight and implication.
A Short Stay With Lingering Weight
Digging Hours doesn’t attempt to scare with monsters or gore. Instead, it traps the player in a place where something is wrong and refuses to explain why. When the digging ends, nothing feels resolved. The flashlight dims, the other person turns away, and you’re left to exit the field without knowing what’s been released. It’s a brief game, but its unease clings like soil under fingernails—quiet, cold, and not easily washed off.
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