Game description:
The Cursed Garden begins in silence. You’re a lone caretaker walking familiar paths under the pale light of the moon. The job is routine—check the fences, scan the trees, listen for wildlife. But something is different tonight. The wind carries unfamiliar whispers. The plants don’t respond to light the way they used to. And something unseen seems to be watching. What was once a peaceful place now breathes with tension, as if the soil itself remembers something you’ve forgotten.
Unfolding Darkness and Hidden Intentions
Your flashlight becomes your only constant. Shapes flicker in the distance. Some vanish as you move closer, while others remain still until you turn away. There are symbols etched into bark where no hand should have reached, and faint lines on the ground that form impossible patterns. As you investigate deeper into the garden, it becomes clear that this is no accident. A presence has been awakened, and you’re no longer walking alone.
A Place Claimed by Ritual
Objects left behind—ropes, burnt wood, and crude idols—suggest organized intent. Not everything can be explained by fear or fatigue. A ritual is in progress, one tied to the land itself. The air thickens near certain clearings. Familiar pathways collapse into loops or lead to places that shouldn’t exist. You find markings that suggest order—triangles, circles, eyes—but they are never complete. Something interrupted the process… or perhaps you arrived just in time to witness its conclusion.
No Fight, Only Flight
There are no weapons. Only movement, observation, and escape. The game doesn’t instruct you where to go or what to do. It relies on presence—how long you stay in one place, what you choose to look at, and how you react to what’s been placed before you. Running is an option, but rarely a solution. Sound becomes a warning system: a shift in wind, a crack of dry leaves, the faint hum of something awakening beneath your feet.
A Garden Transformed by What Shouldn’t Be
The Cursed Garden transforms the natural into the unnatural without breaking the silence. It doesn’t shout—it waits. It lets you wander just far enough to think you understand, then it changes something small. One tree out of place. One sound too close. It never forces terror, but plants it, letting it grow in the dark. What you find may not explain anything. But by the time you reach the final clearing, you’ll understand that the garden was never yours to care for. Not really.
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