A First Glance at the Horror
There’s something about a horror game that pulls me in, even when I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s that stubborn little voice that says, go on, you might enjoy it. If you don’t like horror at all, honestly, the review of the Apartment No. 129 probably isn’t for you. But if you do… well, I’d say keep reading, though maybe don’t do it alone.
When I first looked into Apartment No. 129, the concept actually sounded pretty current. A paranormal incident back in 2009, funny how that now feels like a lifetime ago, left an apartment sealed up and soaked in spooky rumours. Occult whispers, strange disappearances, the whole thing abandoned. Until, of course, someone decides it’s time to poke the supernatural with a stick.
That someone ends up being a YouTuber chasing a bit of internet fame. And honestly, this setup feels familiar in a way that made me nod along. Anyone who spends too much time on YouTube (guilty as charged) knows the type: vloggers exploring derelict hospitals or haunted basements or, as the case in question, forgotten rooms with numbers like “129.” It’s dramatic, it’s overproduced, and somehow it still works often enough to keep people hooked. So I thought, alright, maybe this game will capture that same eerie energy.
That Cinematic Start…
Apartment No. 129 opens with this unexpectedly long cinematic, and after a minute or two, I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d accidentally clicked on an actual YouTube video instead. It just kept going. There was a moment where I thought, maybe the controller’s disconnected, or maybe I’d somehow skipped into a cutscene marathon. It should’ve been my obvious sign to get up, grab a snack, stretch, maybe even reconsider my life choices and quietly walk away. But no, here I am, sticking it out because that’s sort of the whole deal when you’re reviewing something, right? You endure first, complain later.
Everything’s narrated in Turkish, which threw me slightly, not in a bad way, just in that unexpected ‘wait, am I supposed to understand this?’ kind of way. Thankfully, there were English subtitles, though “subtitles” might be too generous because these things were tiny. I had to lean forward until I felt like I was about three inches from the 65 inch screen, squinting like I was checking whether the milk in my fridge was still drinkable. Not exactly the eerie, atmospheric beginning I was hoping for, unless eyestrain counts as horror now.
The mood doesn’t really ramp up from there either. The pale, washed‑out colour palette drifts into a conversation between the vlogger and his friend, and the whole thing feels oddly flat. The friend is almost too eager to send someone into a haunted apartment, Apartment No. 129, as if he’s trying to win a dare or get rid of the guy. And the vlogger… well, he agrees, but it’s the kind of reluctant yes that made me nod because I felt a similar hesitation settling in. It’s that quiet, creeping, ‘do I really want to do this?’ that sits in the back of your mind and refuses to leave.
Where It All Falls Apart
Now, I should say this upfront: I’m not an elite gamer. I’m not the person speed‑running impossible titles or breaking world records, but I’m not hopeless either. I can usually pick up even the most unexciting or clunky games and muddle through them well enough. So I went in with what I thought were realistic expectations. And yet… this one honestly surprised me, and not in the way I’d hoped.
The moment I stepped into the corridor, dark, dusty, the usual horror‑game starter kit you’ve seen a dozen times, everything went sideways. Literally sideways. I tried to take one simple, straightforward step, just a gentle push of the thumbstick, and suddenly my POV snapped up to the ceiling like I’d spotted a ghost doing laps above the light fixtures. I attempted to correct it, but all that did was send my view plunging downward until I was staring at a floor full of tiles that looked like they’d been through some kind of emotional crisis. For a second, I thought maybe I’d accidentally turned on some experimental camera mode, but no. This was just… how the Apartment No. 129 moves.
It’s strange to admit that the real horror here wasn’t ghosts or demons or any of the supernatural threats the premise promised. It was simply trying to walk. Navigating in a straight line felt like wrestling with a drunk shopping trolley with wonky wheels, you know the kind, where one wheel decides it wants to veer off toward the produce section, the other not rolling at all, no matter what you do. Every few steps I’d overcorrect, then undercorrect, then accidentally look straight up again. It became less about immersion and more about sheer survival, and not in the way Apartment No. 129 intended.
I even tried to set the mood properly, thinking maybe I just wasn’t “in it” yet. Lights off, curtains closed, sitting way closer to the TV than any adult reasonably should. I was ready for a jump scare or some clever moment of tension to kick in. Instead, I sat there wrestling with the controls and feeling my enthusiasm slowly, steadily leaking away. The only thing that ever jumped was my frustration level.
Graphics: A Mood Killer in Disguise
Visually, Apartment No. 129 tries, at least, it feels like it tries, to lean into that gritty, decayed horror aesthetic. You know the look: peeling wallpaper, dusty hallways, shadows that seem to cling to the corners a little too tightly. And at first glance, I thought, alright, maybe this could work. But the longer I stared, the more things just… didn’t sit right. The colours felt washed out in a way that wasn’t creepy so much as uncommitted, almost like someone dragged a grey filter over everything and called it a day. Some textures looked surprisingly decent, especially the corridor tiles, I should know, I looked at them and the ceiling more than anything! Though I’m not entirely sure if they were meant to look eerie or if I just stared at them too long while wrestling with the camera. Other details, though, felt oddly flat, like the world wasn’t entirely finished rendering in its own universe.
There were moments where the lighting hinted at something atmospheric, just a tiny flicker of mood, but it never quite reached that point where you feel pulled into the environment. It reminded me a bit of a student film that has ambition but not quite the resources to fully commit. And that inconsistency kept tugging at me. One second I’m thinking, ‘Okay, that corner looks cool,’ and the next, I’m wondering if textures were still loading in or if that’s genuinely how the wall is meant to appear. It’s not terrible, not exactly, but it left me with that lingering sense of ‘almost.’ Almost spooky. Almost immersive. Almost impressive. But never fully stepping over the line.
A Little Background Lore Never Hurts
Editor Dez actually did a little research while editing this review and found that Apartment No. 129 is actually based on a Turkish urban legend. Which gives the whole thing a little extra chill if you’re into that sort of background lore.
The story goes that back in 2009, two girls carried out a satanic ritual in the apartment, candles, symbols, the whole unnerving setup. Then an earthquake supposedly hit right in the middle of it, killing them, except there’s no official record of any quake that night. Since then, people have claimed that anyone who steps inside ends up meeting the same fate. It’s the kind of eerie folklore that almost sets up the horror for you, and honestly, it’s probably why the idea grabbed me before I even picked up the controller.
Final Thoughts
I genuinely wanted to like Apartment No. 129. I really did. I went in hoping it would surprise me or at least give me something memorable to chew on afterwards. The premise alone has enough potential to hook anyone who enjoys a creepy mystery, and I’ll admit the corridor, the one brief glimpse of atmosphere I managed to experience, actually looked pretty decent. For a moment, I caught myself thinking, ‘okay, maybe this is about to get interesting’. But then reality settled in, and reality, in this case, was… unfortunately uncooperative.
A horror game that becomes terrifying for all the wrong reasons loses its punch faster than you’d expect. When the biggest threat you face is the movement system, it sort of undermines any attempt at tension. Instead of listening for eerie noises or scanning for something lurking in the dark, I spent most of my time just trying to steer my character in a straight, rational line. Not exactly the emotional journey the developers were aiming for, I assume. Considering Apartment No. 129 is meant to be a quick two- to three-hour experience, it somehow managed to feel closer to eight.
To be blunt, and maybe I’m being a touch harsher than usual, though I think it’s warranted, I’ve played scarier, smoother, far more enjoyable horror titles that didn’t turn basic movement into slapstick. Even less polished indie games usually handle walking without making me contemplate early retirement from gaming. It’s disappointing, honestly, because you can see the idea here, tucked somewhere beneath the technical frustration, but it never really gets the chance to breathe.
And that’s the part that nags at me. Because, despite everything, I can see this idea having legs. There’s a solid concept buried in here, and it feels like the kind of project a small team probably poured a lot of late‑night hours into. I find myself wanting to circle back at some point, not just out of stubbornness, but to actually experience whatever story and atmosphere they were trying to build. I’d like to enjoy the work they put in, even if the first attempt left me rubbing my temples.
Maybe I’ll give Apartment No. 129 another try once I’ve recovered a bit, or when my patience meter resets, whichever happens first. But as far as first playthroughs go, this one isn’t the sort you brag about. If anything, it’s the sort you bring up with a long sigh and that lingering disbelief that you couldn’t even walk down a hallway without accidentally staring at the ceiling.
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