PRESS KIT

The Story Behind the Game

Shaun and his daughters

Room 337 isn't just about an absent father... it's made by one.

I have four daughters. I've always worked. A hundred hours a week sometimes. I'd go to their plays and sit on my phone the whole time. Physically there. But absent. Real father of the year stuff.

That traces back further than I'd like. My mom died when I was eight. At her funeral, I cried. My grandma smacked me across the face. Don't show emotion. Just survive. So I learned to lock it down. My kids grew up with a dad who never showed emotions. Because I wasn't allowed to.

Making this game together changed that. It's voiced by me and my actual daughters. The music is composed by family. An original song is performed by one of my daughters and me. I get to stay busy... keep my mind occupied... but I'm doing it with them this time. Actually with them. And they get to see me be vulnerable. That's new for all of us.

I cried making this game. I don't cry at anything. My therapist has been trying to get me to cry for months. Doesn't work. But writing this story, hearing my daughters voice the characters... that did it.

The game's theme... a father choosing between an idealized past and a difficult present... mirrors how it was made. The medium is the message.

It is also about how I see myself. I cared the whole time. I never cared enough to put them first.

Room 337 is a love letter to my kids. It is also for anyone who grew up with a parent who wasn't there, or who never felt heard. I hear you. I feel that pain. And to my four most of all.

The events in the story are fiction. The pain and the damage, for my kids and for me, are not.

Read the full story: "Why I'm Making This"

Description

Room 337 is a psychological horror game about a father lost in liminal spaces, searching for the memories of his four daughters. Made by a real father and his real kids.

Room 337 is an atmospheric narrative experience about memory, absence, and the impossible decisions that define us.

Explore liminal spaces that shift and breathe. Watch particles drift through abandoned playgrounds. Feel the screen warm when something beautiful happens. Notice the static creep in when something tries to break through.

This isn't just text on a screen. It's an atmosphere you inhabit.