Trying This Sleep Paralysis Horror Game to See If It Feels Just Like I Remember

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There is nothing quite as unsettling as the fear of sleep paralysis, and it always seems like it doesn’t improve.

I find myself unable to move or speak, accompanied by an unsettling feeling that there’s something unseen lurking nearby. This fear is so potent it leaves me questioning the reality of what I perceive, wondering if it’s merely a figment of my imagination.

Upon discovering Silent Still, a chilling horror game created by Solitary Studios promising an authentic experience, my curiosity compelled me to give it a go. Despite the potentially unnerving thoughts it might provoke, I couldn’t resist the temptation. However, I decided to postpone delving into it until daybreak for safety reasons.

Before jumping into the game, it’s beneficial to learn what exactly sleep paralysis entails. This phenomenon occurs during the transitional phase between sleep and being awake, when the brain is conscious but the body is temporarily immobile. During REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, our muscles become atonic to prevent us from physically enacting our dreams.

Generally speaking, it’s our brain that breaks the hold on our body as we transition from sleep to being awake. But when we experience sleep paralysis, this release is postponed, meaning we stay wide-awake yet unable to move.

Hallucinations during sleep paralysis can be a frightening aspect of this phenomenon. Research indicates that these hallucinations can be categorized into three types: intruder hallucinations (perceiving figures within the room), incubus hallucinations (experiencing weight or pressure on one’s chest or body), and vestibular-motor hallucinations (encountering out-of-body sensations). For my personal experience, it has always been the intruder and incubus hallucinations that have caused me distress: shadowy figures in doorways and the sensation of being pinned down.

The game initially appears peaceful. After a tiring day, I follow my regular evening habits, eventually drifting off to sleep. For the moment, everything seems innocuous. However, once the screen fades to black, that’s when the true horror unfolds. All of a sudden, I find myself awake, yet not fully conscious. I’m unable to move or speak. A sense of being watched begins to creep in subtly.

This game nails the sense of building tension. At first, there aren’t any overtly frightening elements; instead, it’s the subtle cues like the soft sounds of a still house, the intermittent glow from a hallway light, and the disquieting awareness that my actions are frozen. It’s this gradual slide into apprehension that makes it impactful. If you’ve ever experienced sleep paralysis, you’ll immediately recognize that same powerlessness.

During my sleep paralysis instances, I experience vivid hallucinations. I occasionally perceive vague shapes at the door, hear faint whispers, and a chilling anxiety envelops me. The game amplifies these feelings significantly. At times, the room appears empty, but then (barely) I catch a glimpse of motion in the periphery: an almost-human figure standing still, observing me. Then the lights start to flicker.

In this scenario, the sound effects truly take center stage. You’ll hear creaks, faint breaths, and a growing low rumble that seems to be drawing nearer. This evokes an ancient sense of dread often associated with sleep paralysis—the awareness of something amiss combined with an overwhelming feeling of impotence to intervene.

What makes it even more distressing is the unpredictability. In my personal experience, I often find myself unsure of what my mind might come up with. The game mirrors this uncertainty by keeping me on tenterhooks. One night, my tormentor could suddenly appear at the foot of my bed. Another time, they may be right beside my face as soon as I close my eyes. The genuine fear in sleep paralysis comes from my frantic efforts to move. My brain is active, but my body refuses to obey. I attempt to wiggle my fingers or toes as a means to snap myself out of it.

In this game, I’m given restricted command over my actions, which initially leads to me frantically pressing buttons, hoping to escape. However, the game doesn’t let up on the challenge. It mimics that unsettling disconnection where it appears as if I’m moving, but nothing changes. This is the moment when the game truly demonstrates its horror elements. As I near the brink of waking up, something suddenly jumps out at me. The screen warps. I catch my breath. And then—just like a genuine sleep paralysis episode—I come to, soaked in sweat, my heart pounding.

Occasionally, my sleep paralysis incidents trigger out-of-body sensations, making me feel like I’m hovering over my body instead. The game portrays this experience in a captivating and distressing manner. At a certain point, I completely exit my body, gliding through my apartment unseen. However, I’m not the only presence there; something else is present, observing me as I observe myself. This moment was particularly unnerving in the game because it tapped into the fear of relinquishing control entirely.

In truth, my out-of-body experiences seem unreal yet not inherently terrifying. However, this game transforms those moments into something horrifying. My spectral form perceives things that my physical body did not. Shadows in the kitchen, creatures climbing up the walls. And upon waking, I’m often left questioning—was any of it true?

The part of my ordeal that was utterly terrifying occurred towards its close. Following several nights of torment, I attempted to unwind by taking a soothing bath. However, fatigue overcame me. I succumbed to sleep. As before, I awoke powerless. But this time, I found myself fully immersed in water. The situation was dreadful: I fought to move, struggled to breathe, yet remained incapable of taking action as the water steadily rose around me. This experience evoked an unnerving feeling – I could clearly understand the danger, but my body refused to respond. It wasn’t just about being scared of the supernatural anymore; it was about the gut-wrenching fear of drowning in my own existence.

So, does Silent Still really capture sleep paralysis? Yes and no.

As I delved deeper into this game, it nailed an uncanny sense of entrapment, the bone-chilling hallucinations, and the relentless quest for consciousness. The creeping unease, the pulsating lights, and the unnerving entity in the room all sent shivers down my spine, as if I’d walked into a nightmare I’d lived before.

In essence, despite the drama, it remains a game. The reality of sleep paralysis is quite different and less film-like; it doesn’t always involve a terrifying figure lurking to startle me. Instead, it might be an oppressive sense of fear settling on my chest, the perception of an unseen presence, or the struggle of trying to move when I can’t, no matter how much effort I exert.

An important point to mention is the absence of control, as the game allows me to escape whenever I desire, whereas real sleep paralysis keeps me bound until my body releases me against my will. Although it doesn’t perfectly capture my experience, its similarity is striking enough for me to vow that I never want to endure it again.

Would I play it again? Maybe. Would I want to experience the real thing again? Absolutely not.

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2025-02-28 12:43