New Year’s Eve is supposed to be loud. Fireworks outside, people shouting the countdown, someone dropping a glass at exactly the wrong time. In New Year’s Eve with a monster the world above the morgue is probably doing all of that. You just cannot hear it. All you get is the hum of old fridges, the slow tick of a clock that does not quite keep time and the sound of something wet dragging itself along the tiles in the dark ❄️🕛
You are not a hardened soldier or an elite agent. You are the night shift worker at the morgue. The one who signs forms, moves bodies, double checks tags and tries not to think too hard about what those people looked like when they were alive. It is supposed to be a quiet shift. Maybe you planned to scroll your phone between rounds, drink bad coffee, joke that at least your clients do not complain. Then the lights flicker. The temperature drops even though the fridges are closed. And you hear a noise that definitely did not come from the ventilation.
The first few minutes feel wrong in the best horror way. You know the layout. You know where the lockers are, where the cold rooms are, which corridor always has that one buzzing light. The game lets you walk those familiar routes just long enough to relax you. Then it introduces the new guest. You do not see it clearly at first. A shape at the end of a hallway that is gone when you blink. A body on a slab that was covered and now is not. A trail of fluid leading under a door that has no drains.
When the monster finally steps fully into view it feels like the morgue itself spat out a nightmare. Limbs wrong, movements too quick in some moments and painfully slow in others, eyes or whatever passes for eyes that seem more interested in the idea of you than the fact you are screaming. It attacks the living and the dead, which is a horrible revelation the first time you see a corpse suddenly slam against the inside of a storage drawer because something is clawing its way through both worlds at once 👁️🗨️
You are trapped with it. The doors are locked. The phones might as well be props. Somewhere in this maze of steel slabs and tiled corridors there is a key that can get you out. The game could have just turned this into a simple scavenger hunt. Instead it leans into the slow burn brutality of survival horror. Every room you enter feels like an exam you did not prepare for. Is the key in the office behind the toe tag records Is it hanging on a hook in the autopsy theatre Is it tucked into the personal effects of someone whose file you do not really want to read
Exploration becomes a blend of routine and dread. You open cabinets you have opened a hundred times on calmer nights and suddenly notice details you never saw. A set of instruments laid out like someone was about to start a procedure. A chalk mark on the wall that was not there before. A toe tag with your name on it as a sick little joke. The game pushes you to pay attention to tiny clues notes pinned under clipboards, scratched messages near door frames, the pattern of which fridges are running and which ones were deliberately unplugged.
All the while, the monster moves. It does not just sit in one scripted corner waiting to be triggered. Sometimes you hear it before you see it the clack of claws on tile, a wet rasp of breath, the horrible scrape of something heavy being dragged along the floor. Sometimes you only notice it when a shadow shifts across the wall and you realize there is no way that came from your own body. The morgue is not big, but when something that hunts you can slip through cold rooms and hallways with ease, every corridor feels like a trap.
You do not have an assault rifle or a rocket launcher. At best you have improvised tools a scalpel, maybe a bone saw, maybe something heavy you can swing if you absolutely have to. Most of the time fighting is a bad idea. Hiding under tables, slipping into dark corners, holding your breath while it sniffs just a little too close those are the moments that define New Year’s Eve with a monster. Turning off lights to make yourself harder to see, then panicking when you realize you cannot see either. Deciding whether to sprint for a door or wait the extra agonizing seconds for the creature to pass.
The game makes the morgue itself feel like a puzzle box. Doors that only open from one side, keys that fit more than one lock, switches that control power to specific halls. Maybe you cut electricity to the storage wing to trap the monster behind heavy doors but doing so kills the lights in a hallway you still need to cross. Maybe there is a vent big enough to crawl through if you are willing to squeeze past something that smells like formaldehyde and rot. Every clever choice comes with its own little price.
What really gnaws at you is how the dead are not safe anymore. Bodies shift when you are not looking. Drawers rattle. A sheet that should be flat suddenly has an imprint beneath it. The monster’s presence turns the morgue’s usual stillness into an unstable mess. You catch yourself checking tags while you run past, as if knowing their names might somehow make this less awful. It does not. But it does make the whole experience feel more human, like you are not just dodging generic props but running through a place that used to hold real stories now being torn apart by something that should not exist 🧊
Sound design becomes your second set of eyes. That distant metallic clang might be a door closing on the far side of the hall or a body tray being yanked open. A low growl might be echoing from a vent or vibrating right behind the next corner. You start to move slower, not because the game tells you to, but because your nerves insist. Listening becomes as important as looking. Turn the volume down and you might breathe easier, but you will also die faster.
There is a strange poetry to the idea of spending New Year’s Eve counting seconds in a room full of people who ran out of time. Occasionally the game lets you glimpse the world outside in tiny ways the faint crackle of distant fireworks, a muffled cheer that leaks through concrete, the flicker of colored light under a heavy door when midnight hits. Those tiny reminders of celebration make your situation feel even more claustrophobic. Somewhere up there people are hugging, making resolutions, promising themselves that next year will be better. Down here your only resolution is stay alive long enough to find a key.
New Year’s Eve with a monster does not rely only on jump scares, although it has a few that will send your heart racing. Its best moments are slower. Standing in the body storage room, counting how many drawers are slightly open when you know you closed them all. Realizing that the monster has learned your usual hiding spots and is starting to check them first. Feeling the dread of backtracking through a corridor you cleared earlier because now the lights are off and something has been scratching at the walls.
As you explore, you piece together loose hints about what this creature is and why it chose this place. Handwritten notes from staff, half finished incident reports, maybe a recording left on an old computer that no one ever got to send. There is a suggestion that the morgue itself became a gate on this particular night, that something about the border between years and the border between life and death lined up just wrong for a few hours. Whether you buy into that explanation or not, it gives the story a strange mythic edge. This is not just a random monster it might be a punishment, a glitch in reality, or something far older that picked New Year’s Eve as a convenient excuse to slip through.
On Kiz10 this game sits right alongside other horror and escape titles, but its focus on a single location makes it feel uniquely intense. There is no countryside to flee to, no big city to vanish in. It is just you, the morgue, the monster and a key that has to be somewhere in this tiled maze. Every tiny victory finding a new passage, unlocking a door, dodging the creature by seconds feels huge. Every mistake feels final.
If you enjoy horror that wraps itself around a very specific place and refuses to let go, New Year’s Eve with a monster turns one of the quietest jobs in the world into the loudest night of your life. The dead are not the problem anymore. It is the one thing in the building that can still move and seems determined to make sure this is the last shift you ever work 🩸🎆
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