Horror games, as a genre, are always looking back. Not only are horror games uniquely likely to herald back to their predecessors and influences, but, in the indie scene, there are a lot of games that intentionally try to replicate the look and feel of much older titles. PS1 and PS2 era graphics and game design elements are among the most common ways this adherence to the past appears in the indie scene. You can see this in such wide-ranging horror masterpieces as Paratopic, Iron Lung, Dread Delusion, Inscryption, SIGNALIS, and dozens more.
There is a technical reason for this: indie games are made by small teams of developers, if not individual “solo devs,” who operate on shoestring budgets (if that). For that reason, it is obviously easier to produce low-poly, low-resolution assets and to use simple, clunky gameplay elements that can be programmed quickly.
But there is more to it. In the same way many horror stories utilize ancient, cursed objects in their premise, many horror games seem to take that same approach to the technology that enabled the first real wave of “survival-horror” titles like Silent Hill or Resident Evil. Almost like there is something in that aesthetic, that era, that is, itself, cursed. Some games understand this — see my interview with the developers of oneway.exe for an example — but it is rare to find a game that truly, fully embraces it like Vincent Adinolfi’s Heartworm does.
After playing through the stellar demo (which you can find on Steam here), I had the chance to continue my experience with the game by taking on the first boss at PAX West 2024. And I just have to share it here.
The Year is 1998
The demo, which has been around for a while now, starts with one of the best opening monologues I’ve encountered recently. I will quote it several times throughout this article because it perfectly encapsulates what makes Heartworm something special. From the mouth of Sam, a young woman in 1998:
Hey. Sorry you haven’t heard from me in a while. I’ve been… busy. Trying to find out about this place. You’re not going to believe me, and I don’t even know if I really believe it myself, but… I guess a part of me must because I’m going. It’s far. On an abandoned road, a few miles from that power plant in the mountains.
While Sam speaks, the camera pans through Sam’s room. A grandfather clock hits 4 o’clock, and rings out. A VHS labelled “SAM” sits next to a vanity mirror. An old-school, gray brick of a PC displays two windows: one of an illegible email, the other a picture of a house in the woods. On the walls, obituaries hang alongside band posters. And, sitting in the cubby of a bay window, overlooking rain and trees, sits Sam, our protagonist and the epitome of a 90s teenager.
The monolog stretches on, but ultimately ends with Sam driving up that abandoned road, a few miles from that power plant in the mountains. And, the next thing you know, you are in front of an old, run-down house. The scene setting is immaculate. It reminds me some of the early Resident Evil games, yes, but refined. Perfected. Run through the filter of a teenage photographer from the 90s, instead of elite task force operatives.
The house is a lot smaller than the Spencer Mansion, and far more empty. Sam, controlled from a fixed camera angle in each scene, finds her way in through a side door, and begins her search. The house is dark and oppressive, creaky and frightening. More so, it is haunted. But, of course, that is why Sam is here. Strange figures appear at the edge of the screen, and vanish all the same. Weird markings and figures dot the place, acting as a warning — or a threat. One that Sam ignores.
But Sam is not attacked. Despite the danger, the house seems to be repressing its worst features, as though it was lying in wait for Sam to go too deep to turn back. And, as I wander through this mysterious house, I can practically feel its ancient jaws close in around me. Silent Hill and Resident Evil are obvious inspirations, but the kind of oppressive, slow horror in this sequence is informed by more recent entries into the genre. I’m reminded of Kitty Horrorshow’s cult-classic Anatomy, and of Paratopic’s meandering wanderings through the woods.
Though, thankfully, with more puzzles. This one isn’t hard, and I eventually find a note that indicates a time: 12:15. I’d passed by an old grandfather clock — one remarkably similar to the one in Sam’s room — and so I knew what I had to do. I set the time on the clock, and received the “Attic Key”.
As I head to the attic, which I’d passed before, I shiver with anticipation, and with dread.
The Time is 12:15 AM
It was hard to find anything about it. I started on message boards and I ended up in a chat room talking with people who know people, who know people who’ve gone. They said a lot of crazy stuff, but one thing that they all agreed on is that in that house, there’s a room that can take you to the other side. To see the people that you’ve lost again.
Sam’s early-internet research seems to have been correct. At the top of the house, past still, cloaked figures, is a door. And, having set the time to 12:15, the door is now unlocked. As I approach, the fixed camera zooms in. Names and dates are scratched onto the wall, little notes from people who’ve come before. A sign that Sam might never make it back, after going through the door.
And yet, Sam, and I, persist. The door opens in a splash screen perfectly evocative of Resident Evil. And then, Sam finds herself on the threshold to the “other side.” A decrepit wooden staircase leads down, down, down, into an abyss. The sky around Sam — what should be attic walls — is purple, and filled with star-like pinpricks. Something has changed. And yet, Sam persists.
At the bottom of the long, uneven staircase, there is a door. It’s locked and, having nowhere else to go, I turn Sam around and return to the top of the stairs, bracing for whatever would appear behind me. My instincts were correct because, as I got back to the top of the stairs, there stood a dark, robed figure with yellow eyes. And, after a split second, it began lumbering toward me.
I can’t help but admit it: I smiled. The dark figure, the impossible space, the door at the bottom of the staircase, magically unlocked. Yes, it evoked Silent Hill in some ways — obviously it did, haven’t you seen the screenshots? — but there was something more to it on the other side of the now-unlocked doorway. A TV, sitting in a field, tuned to static.
Sam seemed as engrossed as I was, and she paused. She watched the screen, carefully and completely, ignoring the threat that was pursuing her moments ago. A threat that, thanks to a dynamic camera, waited right behind her. Not striking. Not attacking. Just watching. I shivered again, and I smiled.
One thing about Heartworm, at this point, is that it isn’t afraid of the pulp nature of those early, PS1 and PS2-era horror titles. It isn’t afraid to lean into the game-iness, the exaggeration, of those early titles. It is willing to embrace those tropes and those familiar plot elements, but also to take them seriously, and to use them — as those originals did — to advance clear and present themes. Heartworm is, clearly, not just a “love letter” to old-school horror, it is a part of it. There isn’t subversion; instead, Vincent Adinolfi knows to play with the genre earnestly, and to tell an interesting and rich story within that.
This is shown all throughout the rest of the demo, which takes place in a strange mirror-world version of 90s suburbia. This world is infested with static-filled, haunting creatures that pursue Sam, who has to traverse the environment to find pieces to a puzzle and clues as to its solution. It has similarities to the games I’ve listed throughout this article, but the “suburban horror” (a genre label that Vincent Adinolfi himself has used to describe Heartworm) is palpable in ways that the other titles simply don’t have.
But, I don’t want to obsess (unlike Sam). This demo has been out for a while, and you can play it yourself on Steam here. I highly recommend it, but I know what you might be here for, if you’ve been keeping up with Heartworm. There is no way to easily transition, but… Let’s talk about the giant spider boss, shall we?
The Destination is the Other Side
The thing is… No one whose gone has ever come back. And that’s why I’m writing you; not for advice, not to get you to talk me out of going. Actually, by the time you read this, I’ll already be there. I just want to let you know, in case I don’t come back. That way you won’t be wondering where I’ve gone. Either way, you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any other choice. I just can’t keep going on not knowing…
Returning, now, to publisher DreadXP’s PAX West 2024 booth, I am greeted by DreadXP staff who are eager to show off a new part of Heartworm, a part not seen before. The game’s first boss fight. Vincent Adinolfi wasn’t around — I came at a time where he was off to lunch — but I was alright with that. It added to the mystery.
It can be hard to get “into” a game on a convention floor. Even with headphones, the cacophony of the convention center halls is impossible to ignore. The peripherals — mouse and keyboard, in this case — are not your own. In your peripheral vision, people are walking and laughing and having a good time. It is brightly lit. In short, PAX is not always the best place to experience horror. And a boss fight is rarely the most engaging part of horror titles.
And yet, from the second I sat down and pressed the “Spider Boss” button (which might be my least favorite kind of button), I was engrossed. I saw Sam for the first time in several weeks. She was in a new place — some small town, abandoned and covered with fog. The Silent Hill vibes were immense, but other influences like Alan Wake also came to mind. And soon, as Sam walked onto an abandoned bus in the decrepit, cracked townscape, it happened.
It came from above. In a cutscene, a giant spider appeared, startling Sam. She tried to use the bus as cover but, as is the way of these things, the giant arachnid was more than strong enough to use its immense strength to lift the bus. Sam fell out the back and, a moment later, rolled to avoid the bus falling onto her as the spider dropped it. She just managed it, but, of course, the bus toppled in such a way as to completely block the street.
And so, Sam found herself in the middle of an intersection, all routes out blocked by broken-down vehicles. In the center, a spiderweb-filled hole amounted another obstacle. Sam, armed just with a camera, faced off against the giant spider, which was soon joined by several small spiders. And with that, combat began.
What followed was a frantic mess of dealing with Sam’s tank controls and over-the-shoulder “ADS” mode, as she aimed her camera desperately at the charging, behemoth spider.
Avoiding the spider’s web attacks, something only achievable with careful sprints at the right moment, was the hardest part. They dealt low damage, but knocked Sam down, making her vulnerable to follow-up attacks from the giant and its offspring. She could stun the spider momentarily, using the flash from her camera, but it rarely felt like enough. Slowly but surely, the spider’s vicious bites and wicked offspring whittled away at Sam’s health and medical supplies.
Combat was challenging, in part due to the intentional clunkiness inherent to fixed-camera design, but fair. I realized that my camera was damaging the monster, and as I became more and more bloodied, so did the monster.
By the end, my health was in the red, and my heart was racing almost as much as Sam’s. I’d already died once, and I didn’t plan to again, but I didn’t know how much this 8-legged monstrosity had left in it. I was getting desperate and, as the creature charged me once more, I snapped its picture with the last bit of film in the roll. I braced for an impact that never came.
Instead, the monster collapsed. I’d won. Sam had won. But all was not well. Her health bar, her supply of film, and her knowledge of the situation were all still woefully inadequate. She was still in this strange world “on the other side,” and there was still a lot more to know. Even more for the player.
What is this place? Who does she want to see on the other side? Who was she writing to at the beginning? And, most of all, what would come next?
Final Thoughts
All of these questions stuck in my mind for days after playing the Heartworm demo the first time, and they were renewed for days after fighting the spider at PAX West. The game might be calling upon something old, but the questions it begs are fresh. The story it tells is captivating. And the earnestness with which it embraces 90s horror and culture is sincere and endearing.
Everything about Heartworm tells me that it might just end up as the next modern indie-horror masterpiece. I’m at the edge of my seat to see where Sam goes, what she learned, and who, in fact, she is. I’m dying to see more of the strange, inspired world that Vincent Adinolfi has created for Heartworm. And, if you are like me, then you’ll want to keep an eye on Heartworm. You can find the demo and wishlist the full game — which is due out sometime in 2025 — here.
In the meantime, thank you to DreadXP and Vincent Adinolfi for letting me take a look at just a bit more of Heartworm than I’d seen before. I cannot wait to see it all.
Share this article:
Graves
Graves is an avid writer, web designer, and gamer, with more ideas than he could hope to achieve in a lifetime. But, armed with a mug of coffee and an overactive imagination, he'll try. When he isn't working on a creative project, he is painting miniatures, reading cheesy sci-fi novels, or making music.
