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Folk horror through the world | Part. III

We’re back for the third installment of this series of articles dedicated to folklore around the world, with a particular focus on folk horror. You can find parts one and two on Point’n’Think. This time, we’ll start with a detour into titles where religion borders on folk horror, to better explore the fine line between faith and monstrosity; then we’ll explore games inspired by Hispanic, French, and Quebecois folklore; finally, we’ll conclude our journey in Malaysia and Indonesia.

Spain, Russia, and Iceland: When Religion and Mythology Turn Monstrous

Let’s take a brief detour from our topic of folk horror. As defined at the beginning of the article, folk horror often pits pagan customs against more “modern” monotheistic religions. In addition to local folklore legends about monsters, witches, and other creatures, it can also draw inspiration from mythologies or veer toward a more Lovecraftian direction. As such, some video games incorporate certain elements of folk horror without fully identifying as such, or by interpreting them in their own way. This is a way of distorting and twisting familiar religious figures, or of making mythological deities even more monstrous. While not strictly part of folk horror, it can be fascinating to explore this for a moment.

It’s hard not to be struck by the strong influence of Catholicism and religious art that permeates the entire artistic direction of the Spanish game Blasphemous (developed by The Game Kitchen and released in 2019). In the nightmarish city of Cvstodia, the Penitent embarks on a quest—more mystical than religious—to free his world from the Fatal Miracle that decimated his order. Along the way, he encounters wandering, lost souls in need of help, but also numerous enemies that are monsters and parodies of Christian symbols. Blasphemous draws its roots from the Andalusian Inquisition, bringing to life distorted and blood-soaked visions. Enrique Cabeza, the game’s art director, states that he drew inspiration from Iberian and Andalusian culture on multiple levels: legends, paintings, architecture, and music. We also find religious subversion, such as “saints” pierced by swords where pain is pushed to the extreme as atonement, a testament to the Inquisition. You face titanic creatures inspired by Hispanic legends, such as Altasgracias or Our Lady with the charred face. This entire distorted, parodied religious universe, imbued with a hallucinatory beauty, does not strictly belong to folk horror. Yet he echoes him in his borrowings from Spanish folklore and history, and in his way of subverting the religious, offering monstrous and corrupted symbols that bear no resemblance to their original religious context.

Similarly, we could discuss the Russian game Indika, linking it to the battle between God and the Devil, produced by Odd Meters in 2024. Its eponymous heroine, a young nun, begins to hear a demonic voice and experience hallucinations that parody the sacred symbols of the Church. Admittedly, Indika lives in an isolated religious community, completely closed-minded, strictly adhering to Orthodox traditions without questioning them. Yet even Indika’s acts of penance, which earn her faith points in the game, are ridiculed. In terms of atmosphere, Russia’s freezing cold and its desolate lands provide the perfect backdrop to explore the character’s isolation—both physical and mental. Indika wanders from landscape to landscape in a world ravaged by war, trapped by torments she cannot share with anyone, and doubting her own sanity. She thus joins the ranks of those unstable narrators that folk horror loves so much; and Indika touches on the religious satire that folk horror never shies away from when the opportunity arises.

From a more mythological perspective, the two installments of the Hellblade: Senua’s Saga (Ninja Theory, 2017–2024) are also steeped in folk horror through their atmosphere and enemies. The first game takes place in Helheim, the Norse underworld, and then in Iceland. It is the game’s atmosphere, above all, that resonates with folk horror. Labyrinthine forests and paths, stormy seas, totems and pagan circles, ruined villages, bloody Viking rituals, confrontations with Norse deities: the giant wolf Garmr, the god of illusion Valravn… or with horrific humanoid creatures, a blend of Viking warriors and their nightmarish forms in Senua’s mind. Everything exudes both the danger of a hostile natural world and a mistrust tinged with horror, sparked by beliefs to which Senua, of Pictish origin, is unaccustomed. The settings are haunted by the whispers and screams of those who crossed paths with the Vikings—whether rooted in the places traversed or in the heroine’s psychotic mind—whose reality is therefore unreliable. Senua, as a person suffering from mental illness, also recounts her exorcisms or dark rituals intended to drive out the darkness and decay within her.

The second game features even more sumptuous and untamed environments—beaches, cliffs, and underground passages—dotted with villages emptied of their inhabitants, who have fled in fear of being enslaved. While the island’s landscapes are breathtakingly beautiful, their sinister and supernatural atmosphere in certain places also echoes the heroine’s journey of self-discovery. Hellblade: Senua’s Saga places greater emphasis on Icelandic beliefs and creatures, as well as the sacrificial rites performed by barbarians to appease the gods. Throughout the game, the heroine also faces the Draugr, zombie-like creatures, and encounters the Huldufólk, the “hidden people” of the Faroe Islands—an invisible race dwelling underground and endowed with clairvoyance. Thus, the Hellblade saga approaches folk horror through its desolate and gloomy landscapes, its ancient legends and traditions—a reflection of the civilizations of that era—but also through the heroine’s journey of initiation.

Spain & French-speaking regions: the desire for a national video game

We’re staying in Spain a little longer with Crisol: Theater of Idols, developed by the Madrid-based studio Vermila and released in February 2026. Although the game leans more toward horror fantasy with a dash of action, Crisol: Theater of Idols owes its entire atmosphere and artistic direction to its Hispanic roots through the creation of the fictional island of Tormentosa. Like Blasphemous, the game’s imagery draws heavily on Hispanic religious symbols and art, as well as the country’s folklore. In an interview with Deadline, creative director David Tornero recounted spending Easter in Andalusia and being struck by a local custom: the people carry statues of saints and the Virgin Mary through the streets, parading them throughout the city. This is where the idea for Crisol came from, in which an envoy of the Sun God is tasked with defeating the religious statues that have turned murderous in Tormentosa. One might think the folklore is purely aesthetic in this title, but CEO David Carrasco disagrees. Crisol actually had a very hard time finding a publisher before being backed by Blumhouse Games, precisely because its flavor was too “Hispanic.” With video games needing to be designed for an international audience in order to be financially viable, who would be interested in a Spanish-speaking world, with art direction so heavily influenced by the country’s religion and architecture, and sacred statues as enemies instead of zombies? Keeping the Hispanic spirit and folklore at the heart of Crisol: Theater of Idols was a fierce battle for Vermila Studios, as they refused to settle for a more generic setting or to oversimplify the localization process—all with the goal of giving players a glimpse of Spain and its culture, and perhaps inspiring them to discover it for themselves.

Carimara: Beneath the Forlorn Limbs, a French indie video game, was developed by Bastinus Rex, who has previously been interviewed on Point’n’Think. In this folk-horror tale, you play a mute character tasked with hunting down a ghost in an old woman’s mansion. As a point-and-click game that also incorporates cards, Carimara originally drew inspiration from Joseph Delaney’s L’épouvanteur series of novels, before branching out into Norman legends, which bear a striking resemblance to the game’s plot.

Much like Crisol: Theater of Idols, which aimed to reflect Spain, The Whispering Valley, produced by Chien d’or studio, is intended to be a “national” game, in the words of its developer, Olivier Leclair. The game uses folk horror to explore the history of its country: Quebec. The Whispering Valley invites you to play as a man of faith in the 19th century, who decides to investigate the neighboring community after receiving a mysterious letter from the village priest. And as is typical of folk horror, the villagers of Sainte-Monique-des-Monts turn out to be gloomy, frankly depressed, all bound by a shared village secret that highlights the contrast between society’s outward appearance and the darkness within its people. Furthermore, a supernatural monster may be lurking nearby… This point-and-click game draws on historical research and the architecture of existing villages to recreate the atmosphere of the era, featuring Quebecois voice acting with subtitles. In doing so, it showcases a culture rarely represented in the gaming world, while delivering a horror-filled atmosphere that highlights a community’s secrets and gloomy landscapes, lost in the heart of nature.

Back to Asia: When Horror Is Part of Daily Life

To wrap up our global tour of horror folklore in video games, let’s head back to Asia. Japanese culture is widespread in video games, particularly through J-RPGs and horror titles, but games originating from Indonesia or Malaysia are much rarer.

In 2018, the Indonesian studio StoryTale released Pamali, its very first game, which was followed by several DLCs. “Pamali” refers to a system of rules and beliefs, ancient and specific to various aspects of daily life. It serves as a code of conduct to avoid actions that might anger supernatural entities. Part taboo and part prohibition, these rules dictate what to do regarding certain traditions, etiquette, and daily rituals—and above all, they ensure players don’t simply do as they please while disregarding local culture. This mechanic, unique for a horror game, immerses players in everyday Indonesian life, where every choice has a consequence and must not violate a taboo.

For example, while cleaning a house, one might encounter the Kuntinalak, a woman searching for her dead baby; or in a cemetery, one might take on the role of its guardian and be called upon for help by the Pocong, who is unable to leave the world of the living. Rather than encouraging players to fear supernatural creatures or confront them, Pamali instead asks players to pay attention to their requests and their presence, in order to avoid provoking their wrath. Folklore is truly part of the game’s horror experience, as the title requires players to fully immerse themselves in Indonesian culture and supernatural beliefs. Only in this way can the player make the right choices when dealing with spirits and adapt their actions to achieve a happier ending.

The Paper Ghost Stories series: 7PM and Third Eye Open (2022–2024) was created by the Malaysian studio Cellar Vault Game. These 2D games draw inspiration from paper theater, with characters and settings that seem to have stepped straight out of a cut-out or pop-up book. This visual style evokes memories of childhood reading… creating a stark contrast with the horror-filled setting of the game. Like Pamali, Paper Ghost Stories grounds its stories in everyday life. In 7PM, a group of children explores their apartment building, which is plagued by strange phenomena, during the Hungry Ghost Festival in the seventh lunar month—a time when ghosts can roam the Earth and must be appeased. In Third Eye Open, a young girl has had the ability to see ghosts since childhood, and the game follows five years of her life. It is pure everyday life—not a sudden supernatural event—that gives rise to the unease in these two titles, a daily life deeply rooted in local beliefs and superstitions. By featuring settings and scenes found only in Malaysian or Chinese culture, as well as a local dialect blending these languages with English, Paper Ghost Stories reinforces its cultural identity in both games. And the series thus invites players to immerse themselves in these traditions, these rituals, and this very particular way of weaving horror into everyday life.

Conclusion

Our overview of folklore from around the world in video games—particularly as seen through the lens of folk horror—comes to an end (almost) here. Folk horror in video games is highly diverse, pursuing different goals and utilizing different models depending on the countries that create these various titles. It allows horror to be used as a metaphor for a country’s historical traumas (South of Midnight, Blasphemous) by distorting local legends, folklore monsters, or historical figures. Sometimes, it allows for a confrontation between tradition and modernity, pitting the free individual and their personal journey against a conservative society content to follow the same ancient rules without questioning them (Silent Hill f, Indika, The Mildew Children). It is therefore not surprising that folk horror is so often an initiatory, even mystical, quest for the characters, allowing them to confront deep-rooted traumas and difficulties by facing monsters that are reflections of themselves or a nature that isolates them and forces them to look themselves in the face (Unforgiving: A Northern Hymn, Draugen, Someday You’ll Return) .

More traditionally, since it draws inspiration from a country’s folklore, folk horror allows for a fresh take on creatures or legends rooted in a specific culture (Year Walk, Cooking Companions, Carimara). It’s also a way for developers to highlight their often-overlooked cultures, with games that have a so-called “national” identity to gain international recognition. They draw on historical facts (The Whispering Valley), everyday customs (Pamali, Paper Ghost Stories), or local architecture and art (Crisol: Theater of Idols, Blasphemous).

What also stands out from this tour of the continents is that certain countries will naturally have favorite themes or subjects in their games. South of Midnight, as a game rooted in the culture of the Deep South of the United States, also explores ghosts and the massacres of colonization. Silent Hill f, along with Pamali and Paper Ghost Stories, demonstrate just how divided Asia can be between tradition and modernity, the individual and the common good of the community, and the rules to be followed for the sake of shared honor—or just how deeply spirituality is woven into daily life in these countries. Eastern European countries and Scandinavia tend to favor reimagining dark folktales (Cooking Companions, Year Walk), maintaining a chilling atmosphere marked by the omnipresence of nature and the isolation it imposes. The protagonist does not emerge unscathed, forced to confront their demons, cornered and driven to survive, whether in Scandinavia or Russia: Indika and Senua (Hellblade) bear the brunt of this, especially since they are unreliable narrators of their own stories.

Furthermore, the presence of these heroines (Senua, Indika, Hinako, Hazel) is significant. It serves as a reminder that in the folk horror genre, women are often the primary victims and heroines of the plots, historically accused of witchcraft and transgression during supernatural or catastrophic events.

Certain titles were excluded from this presentation, as it was deemed that while they retained traces of folklore, these reflected a more superficial local flavor and were less eager to truly share a country’s culture: the Filipino Nightfall Escape, the South American Origin: The Blind Maid, or the Hungarian Children of Clay. Sometimes, certain games were also not sufficiently characteristic of folk horror. Boasting folkloric inspiration or setting the plot in another country is not always enough to make a title deeply rooted in a culture. Finally, it’s hard not to notice the absence of African games, a true blind spot in video game production, either because they are niche or because there are almost none.

Video games are a medium that lends itself extremely well to sharing a country’s folklore, particularly through folk horror. This works just as well with other, less dark games, such as Tchia, which explores New Caledonian culture, or Venba, which showcases Indian cuisine. In fact, more and more developers are using the term “national game” to highlight its creators and artists, its culture, legends, and history—just as books and films do to promote a culture and a country. Video games are finally being recognized as an art form capable of conveying the essence and soul of a country or culture—a role previously reserved for other media: books, films, and music. Yet a game can speak of a country through its potentially historical plot, through its original language if it is preserved as-is or even used exclusively in the dubbing, through its architectural, religious, and artistic influences… It’s a way to discover another culture—whether through horror or a gentler game—and to highlight that country’s creators, gaining international recognition if the game is a success. Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 hasn’t put France back in the spotlight through its music, atmosphere, and references, even if it means being politically misinterpreted?

However, choosing a “national” game or one that represents a little-known civilization also carries risks for the studio in question. Opting for a language other than English—which is predominantly used in video games to reach a wide audience— less fluid on-screen localization and expressions left untranslated to reflect a culture, or due to a lack of equivalents; references that are too local or themes specific to a country… This can discourage players and even scare off publishers who will prefer a profitable title that can be marketed universally, at the expense of a certain originality. It is therefore no coincidence that many of the games discussed here are often indie titles developed by small teams, who wish to convey the culture they know best: their own. By contrast, better-known studios will prefer smoother AAA games, less rooted in any particular folklore, out of a desire to reach the widest possible audience and thus ensure profitability. This represents a genuine tension between a studio’s original vision and the risk of commercial failure that could result from a game that is too niche.

Among the upcoming folk horror games is Curse of the Crimson Stag (formerly known as The Fading of Nicole Wilson), currently in development by the Italian studio One-O-One Games, the creator of the controversial The Suicide of Rachel Foster. Curse of the Crimson Stag is set in an abandoned hotel, Whiteroot, where two young women are filming a documentary. The local residents constantly speak of the legend of a vengeful crimson stag, once the protector of the region. The trailer exudes pagan rituals and a bloom that’s a bit too vibrant to be harmless…

Animas will take us to Venezuela, allowing us to discover a country that is underrepresented in the gaming world. Produced by the Venezuelan studio Apamate, the game invites players to explore an old family home deep in the mountains, traversing different timelines. This not only allows players to discover the daily life of this family over decades but also to witness the evolution of the traditions, beliefs, and myths—which are very much present in the game—as time goes on.

Monumental Collab has already released a game, Teleforum, which drew inspiration from found footage—a technique often used in folk horror. But its upcoming game, Our Lady of the Drowned Lake, further emphasizes Brazilian folklore while retaining its found footage style. Drawing on local legends, historical events, and religious beliefs, the game will let players take on the roles of three protagonists seeking to solve the mysteries of a lake haunted by a supernatural creature.

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