I’ve always loved horror games. Proper survival horror. The tension, the atmosphere, the quiet dread that builds as you move through a space that doesn’t want you there. I grew up during that era where Resident Evil and Silent Hill felt untouchable. They weren’t just games you played, they were experiences you sat with.
Now I’ve got a six year old daughter and horror fits into my life very differently.
When Resident Evil Requiem was announced I was excited. I’d waited years for another entry that really leaned back into horror. Not decades, but long enough that the hype felt earned. It’s been out a week and I’ve managed about two hours total.
Not because I don’t want to play it. It’s because I simply won’t play it around her.
Horror games are intense. Loud. Violent. Designed to unsettle adults. I’m not risking giving my daughter nightmares because I fancied squeezing in a chapter before dinner. She’s six. She’s into Pokémon, drawing and asking me how sharks sleep. That world is light and safe and I’m not dragging her into decaying corridors and body horror just because I’ve been waiting for a release.
So horror happens when she’s asleep. Properly asleep. And most nights by the time that window opens I’m tired enough that the sofa looks more appealing than a tense boss fight.
It was even more pronounced with Silent Hill. That was the one I’d waited decades for. When it finally returned it took me three months to properly sit down and experience it. Three months to finish something I would have cleared in a weekend ten years ago.
Parenthood doesn’t remove your hobbies but it reshapes them. You can’t dip into horror casually. It needs attention. It needs darkness and decent volume and the mental space to let it work on you. You can’t really immerse yourself when there’s a chance someone small is going to wander in mid cutscene asking for a snack.
The funny thing is I don’t resent it.
If anything it makes those rare late night sessions feel earned. The house is quiet. The toys are away. There’s no cartoons in the background. Just me and whatever horrible thing is waiting at the end of the hallway. I move through these games slowly now. An hour here. Forty minutes there. Stretching something designed to be consumed quickly into something that lingers for weeks.
Being into horror games as a parent is hard. Not because you love them less. Not because you don’t have time at all. It’s hard because you care more about protecting your kid’s sleep than you do about finishing a campaign in week one.
And honestly, that’s probably how it should be.