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Sermon is a short first‑person horror game that places you in the quiet isolation of an old, mostly empty apartment building for a single night. The arrangement is simple: watch the place until morning and stay for free. At first, the stillness is almost comforting. The corridors stretch out in dim light, the rooms hold nothing but worn furniture and stale air, and the building seems lifeless. Yet as you wander, the calm begins to feel unnatural. A flicker in the corner of your vision, a faint knock from somewhere above—small signs that the night will not stay quiet for long.
You begin with nothing but a flashlight, its narrow beam cutting through the shadows. The building feels larger than it should, with each hallway blending into the next. Some rooms seem untouched for years, their dust‑covered surfaces disturbed only by your steps. Others feel occupied, though you never see by whom. The further you explore, the more you sense the building’s age— in its creaks and groans, and in the way it seems to carry the memory of everyone who has passed through it.
During your time in Sermon, you will:
These actions guide the pacing, creating a rhythm between slow exploration and moments of sharp unease.
The longer you remain inside, the more the building begins to feel aware of you. Soft, distant noises interrupt the silence. Shadows seem to stretch and bend in ways that don’t match the lighting. Occasionally, an open door you were certain was closed invites you inside. Even without any direct confrontation, the feeling of being observed follows you from one floor to the next, making each step forward a calculated risk.
Sermon doesn’t rely on complex mechanics or heavy storytelling—it uses space, sound, and suggestion to keep you unsettled. The experience is brief, but its weight stays with you after you’ve left. The echo of your own footsteps, the shift of a shadow, the way the light seemed to bend in the hallway—these are the details you remember. It’s a quiet kind of horror, where the scariest thing is the thought that you might not have been alone in that building after all.