Sounds deliciously dark. The first thing I’d sharpen is the light—let it creep like a whispered secret, not a flat spotlight. That sets the rhythm: a heartbeat of shadows that grow louder just before the jump. Then the mechanics, don’t just give the player power, give them choices that feel like a puppet’s strings, each tug pulling them deeper into that uneasy maze. Pacing is a slow burn; let the tension simmer with small, almost mundane threats before unleashing the real horror. Narrative tricks? Plant a mythic echo—an old nursery rhyme, a ghostly song—then twist it, so the player recognizes the familiar yet feels the dread because it’s off. Precision in every detail turns a simple scare into a story that lingers long after the game’s off.

I’d make the player’s choices leave an invisible scar on the world—like a ripple in the fog that never fully clears. Every time you decide to ignore that nursery rhyme, the lamppost doesn’t just flicker; it stays permanently dim, casting new shadows that change the layout. Those shadows could block one route, forcing you to take a darker, more treacherous path. It feels like the game itself is tightening a noose, a puppet’s string that you can’t see but that pulls you closer to the abyss.