Creaks (2020)

You know that feeling when the lights in your apartment start acting up, the wallpaper begins to peel, and your first thought isn’t “call maintenance,” but “this is probably a hidden world behind the wall and I should see what it’s all about”?

Creaks assumes you’re that kind of person.

You play as an ordinary guy trying to deal with a flickering light when the wallpaper peels back and reveals a secret passage. Against all common sense (and any basic survival instinct) you crawl inside and end up wandering through a decaying mansion full of tight corridors, hostile furniture, and the uneasy sense that something massive is moving somewhere nearby. It’s bleak, tense, and subtly threatening without ever resorting to cheap scares.

At its core, Creaks is a puzzle platformer built on observation. It teaches through interaction, not exposition. Each room presents a self-contained problem where everything you need is already in view. You’re never hunting for missing pieces, just figuring out how the existing ones fit together. When a solution clicks, it feels earned rather than nudged along.

The creatures are central to that design, one of them being the mechanical dogs. They look dangerous, and they are... until light hits them and freezes them into harmless furniture. That single rule reshapes how you approach every space, turning panic into planning and forcing you to think in terms of positioning instead of reflexes. It’s a smart mechanic that stays interesting for additional enemy types, long after it’s introduced.

This isn’t a game that wants to be rushed. While the puzzles are rarely difficult (okay, I’m lying—I got completely stuck on about three of them and had to fight every instinct to look up a walkthrough), they do start to blur together toward the end. I enjoyed the experience far more when I treated it like something to return to in short bursts. Played that way, the puzzles stay engaging instead of wearing out their welcome.

Visually, Creaks is a feast for the eyes. Every room looks like it was pulled from a dark, dusty storybook: heavy ink lines, muted colors, and a suffocating stillness that makes the whole place feel cold and unlived-in. It’s striking, but intentionally joyless. You admire the spaces more than you want to linger in them. Interactive paintings scattered throughout the halls add a welcome change of pace, dropping you into short, strange mini-games that act as a breather from the mansion’s more methodical puzzle-solving.

I played on PS5 instead of a phone/tablet, (which based on what I’ve heard) was probably the right call. Controls felt responsive during timing-heavy sections where small mistakes actually matter. I was grateful not to be fighting touch inputs here, because this is a game that doesn’t particularly forgive sloppy inputs.

What stuck with me most is how complete the world feels. There’s a strong sense that you’re only glimpsing part of something much larger. The game lets the environment carry the weight instead of explaining itself away, which gives the experience more texture than a lot of louder, more talkative puzzle games.

👍 POSITIVES

• Thoughtful puzzles that respect player intelligence • Excellent use of light as both threat and solution • Striking illustrated visuals with a consistent tone • A world that feels old, strange, and intentionally incomplete

🤏 MIXED

• Puzzle variety thins out later on • Best enjoyed in measured play sessions, not marathons

👎 NEGATIVES

• Repetition can set in if played too quickly • The bleak atmosphere won’t click for everyone