Any game can explore grief and regret, but it’s horror that’s often most suited to delve into darker emotions. Turning monsters into metaphors is one of the genre’s great strengths, and in one flawed but fulfilling new horror game, its heroines' memories are the most grotesque part.
Driven by grief after her grandfather passes, Sam begins Heartworm in her room, packing for a bizarre, ill-considered journey. She’s tracked rumors of a house in the woods with a portal to the afterlife somewhere inside. No one who’s gone there has ever returned, but she can’t help herself from trying. That starts an increasingly dangerous and surreal descent through a fractured version of her memories with nothing but a camera that mysteriously repels the monsters she finds there.
From aesthetics to controls to tone, Heartworm is an homage to the horror games of the late ‘90s and early 2000s. The feel of Resident Evil, the camera mechanics of Fatal Frame, and the psyche-made-real setting of Silent Hill are all clear influences, and even its voice acting feels pitch-perfect for the era it’s trying to emulate.
That reverence for the horror games of yore is one of Heartworm’s best and worst qualities. Its opaque puzzle design leads to a lot of aimless wandering, and its clunky controls often aren’t up to the task of navigation or combat. Whether it’s because these aspects are inherently dated or because it’s not as tightly designed as the games it’s referencing, getting through some parts of Heartworm can be a real struggle.
At the same time, Heartworm’s fixed camera angles, lo-fi aesthetic, and focus on atmosphere over explicit narrative are where it shines. The game is pure survival horror, gating progress behind obscure puzzles and unguided exploration. You’re pitted against overwhelming enemies, and with limited ammo and healing items, it’s often smarter to sneak than fight. It feels significantly easier than most of its old-school forebears, and I ended the game with a pile of unused items, but it still does a great job of making you feel outmatched and alone in a hostile world. It’s not groundbreaking, but it captures the dreadful joy of older survival horror games.
Heartworm has impeccable style, and every part of the game’s presentation deserves some praise. Its pitch-perfect lo-fi aesthetic jumps out first, but the most impressive part of its visual language might just be its use of camera angles. As is common in older survival horror games, Heartworm uses fixed camera angles that change as you move through the environment, and it employs them to full effect. Sometimes it hides enemies just off-screen, giving you a split-second to react (and recover from the scare) when the camera changes to make them visible. Elsewhere, it obscures the most spectacular part of a scene from you until that transition happens, hitting you with a breathtaking view of the environment.
Some of the game's best moments come when the camera unlocks, following Sam at unnerving distances and disorienting angles, often while accompanied by her melancholy narration. Heartworm handles audio with equal skill, building stress with both silence and the clatter of its haunted environments. That’s all punctuated by an aching soundtrack that never fails to amplify the emotional journey.
Heartworm certainly has its missteps, including an ending that falls flat on its face, but it’s a game I can’t get out of my head. As much as I was frustrated by it, I still adore the mix of fear and melancholy that permeates the whole game. I can only work up the courage to finish a horror game every once in a while, and even if Heartworm doesn’t succeed on every level, I’m glad I saw Sam’s journey through to the end.
