12 Gamers Share Their Scariest Game Experiences

The scariest game I’ve ever played is P.T., and I played it alone at night on a PlayStation 4 with headphones on.

The fear came from repetition and unpredictability. You walk the same hallway over and over, but tiny changes make you feel unsafe. The moment that stuck with me is realizing the ghost, Lisa, can appear behind you at any time, even when nothing seems wrong. No combat, no HUD, no safe mechanics to lean on.

Playing on console amplified it because you’re fully immersed and trapped in that loop. The game punishes expectation, not mistakes, which makes the tension constant and exhausting.

Being the Founder and Managing Consultant at spectup, I don’t often get time for horror games, but one that genuinely stayed with me was Silent Hill 2. I remember playing late at night after a long day of investor calls and portfolio reviews, and the tension hit differently because I was already mentally drained. The scariest moments weren’t jump scares, but the atmosphere: foggy streets, distorted sounds, and that lingering sense of being watched even when nothing moved. One of our team members who joined the session laughed nervously but admitted she kept glancing behind her, which made me realize how immersive the design was.

What sent chills was the psychological storytelling. The game manipulated expectations and fear subtly, turning ordinary spaces like a bathroom or hotel hallway into sources of dread. I found myself hesitating before opening doors or walking down corridors, which in hindsight mirrors the kind of uncertainty founders feel when making high-stakes decisions. Another element was sound design; the faint, distorted audio cues created tension in ways visuals alone could not. I remember thinking that if spectup ever designed investor readiness simulations, capturing that subtle psychological pressure would be invaluable for training decision-making under stress.

The narrative also made the experience personal. The protagonist’s guilt and isolation were conveyed through environmental storytelling rather than explicit exposition, and that kept me on edge far longer than simple scares could. I realized that the game’s brilliance was in layering anxiety over curiosity—you wanted to progress but feared every step. From my perspective, the most effective fear is the one that forces reflection, not just reaction. In that sense, Silent Hill 2 was a masterclass in tension and atmosphere, and it reminded me that anticipation can be as powerful as the moment itself.

The scariest game I’ve ever played was Alien: Isolation, largely because it relied on tension and unpredictability rather than jump scares. The fear came from knowing you were being hunted by something you could not outgun or outsmart in a traditional way. The game forced patience, restraint, and constant situational awareness, which made every decision feel loaded with risk.

What stayed with me was how sound and silence were used. Small noises, a flickering light, or the distant movement of the alien were enough to spike adrenaline. The AI felt reactive and unscripted, so no two encounters played out the same way. That uncertainty created a persistent sense of vulnerability that followed you even when nothing was happening.

The experience stood out because it respected the player’s intelligence. It trusted atmosphere, pacing, and psychological pressure to do the work. Long after playing, it stuck with me as a reminder that the most effective fear often comes from anticipation and loss of control, not spectacle.

In terms of sheer atmosphere, one of the most unnerving games I’ve played was “Amnesia: The Dark Descent.” Rather than relying on graphic violence, it uses darkness, sound design and the feeling of being pursued to create tension. You wake up in a deserted castle with no memory and have to navigate twisting corridors with only a lantern, hearing footsteps and whispers that play on your imagination. Knowing you are powerless to fight back – you can only hide or run when something appears – makes every scrape of a door or flicker of light feel like a threat. The most chilling moments came when the game let your imagination fill in the blanks, building dread through anticipation rather than explicit gore. It taught me that subtlety, audio cues and the fear of the unknown can be far more effective at generating genuine chills than any jump scare or special effect.

The scariest game I ever played wasn’t loud or fast, it was slow and quiet. One night stands out. The house was dark, the game sound was low, and nothing happened for long stretches, which somehow made it worse. It felt odd waiting for fear instead of reacting to it. The moments that got me were small, footsteps where there shouldn’t be any, doors already open, a radio crackling without warning. My shoulders stayed tense the whole time. Funny thing is I quit before anything dramatic even happened. The game worked because it messed with anticipation. Fear came from not knowing when to breathe. That stayed with me longer than jump scares ever did.

Outlast is still the scariest game I’ve ever played, hands down. When that night-vision camera battery started dying and I could hear footsteps getting closer, my palms would sweat. The sound design keeps you on edge, but if you want that full experience, just play with headphones and all the lights off. It’s a whole other thing.

No game has scared me more than Amnesia: The Dark Descent. Hiding in the water while that invisible creature was nearby, I was just stuck at my keyboard. They don’t rely on jump scares, but use sound and your character’s helplessness to create a haunting dread. If you want horror that genuinely makes you feel unsafe, this is the one. It’s all atmosphere.

I’m into fantasy stuff and even have some replica weapons, but Resident Evil Village still got to me. That part in the dollhouse, solving puzzles by candlelight with no weapons, I almost had to pause the game just to breathe. It really does pull you in, but just a warning, some of those moments follow you around after you’re done playing.

This question immediately made me think of a moment that surprised me.

One Christmas, my family decided to play a horror-themed board game late at night. It wasn’t graphic or high-tech, just a slow, story-driven game where one person might secretly turn against the group. What made it genuinely scary wasn’t the mechanics, but the mood. The house was quiet, the lights were low, and every pause between turns felt loaded. At one point my mum started reading a card and stopped mid-sentence, and that silence alone sent chills through all of us.

The fear didn’t come from anything explicit. It came from anticipation and imagination doing the heavy lifting. Because we were with family, relaxed and unguarded, the tension hit harder. It reminded me that the scariest experiences aren’t about visuals or shock, but about uncertainty and the stories our minds create when we’re fully present.

It must be playing the very first Resident Evil game in college. Of course, we liked to play in the dark as it added to the ambiance.

Late in the game, there were these monsters called “Hunters”. Once you got on screen with them, they would immediately see you and sprint straight at you. You had maybe a split second to shoot them with an Acid Round before they’d tear you apart.

I just remember screaming whenever we’d find a Hunter we didn’t know about in the game. Those things were terrifying.

The scariest game I’ve ever played is Resident Evil 2 Remake. Walking through the dark, abandoned police station with only a flickering flashlight instantly sets a tense mood, but it’s the sudden, unpredictable zombie encounters that really get your heart racing. The combination of atmospheric sound design, tight camera angles, and moments of complete vulnerability kept me on edge the entire game. Each corridor felt like a trap, and the fear of the unknown was constant—it’s the perfect blend of suspense and surprise that still sticks with me.

Memento Mori is the scariest game I’ve ever played, mainly because of how it builds tension rather than relying on constant jump scares. The slow pacing, eerie sound design, and unsettling environments create a feeling that something is always wrong, even when nothing is happening.

What really sent chills down my spine were the moments when silence took over and you were forced to explore dark, confined spaces with very little guidance. The psychological horror, combined with the feeling of isolation and unpredictability, made every small sound feel threatening. It’s the kind of game that stays with you long after you stop playing.