A midnight stroll into a world of mystery
By Paul Hunter
Some games ask for your attention. Others ask for your time. But The Midnight Walk asks something different—simply asks for you to be there, in the moment. This first-person horror stealth title comes from MoonHood, comprised of members behind the hit titles Lost in Random, Fe and Ghost Giant. It's published by Fast Travel Games and is available now on PC (Steam), PlayStation 5, and PSVR2.
What sets it apart isn’t just its style, but the process behind it. Every environment, character, and creature is sculpted from clay and animated using stop-motion. If you ever watched The Nightmare Before Christmas and thought "I'd love to play a game that looks like this," then this is the game for you. There’s an unexpected warmth to the claymation—even when things turn bleak. You’ll explore decaying forests, speak with odd companions, and sneak past monsters that seem half-alive, half-forgotten.
MoonHood takes a subtle approach here. Jump scares are rare, as are long tutorials. Instead, you make your way through stories that feel whispered rather than shouted. It’s haunting, cryptic, and tinged with melancholy, but in a way that feels right. It sticks with you, especially if you take your time.
We’ll dive into how the story, gameplay, visuals, and sound all come together to create that unique vibe. There are a few bumps along the way, but nothing that derails the overall experience. Does this atmospheric clay-and-shadow journey hold up, and is it worth stepping into the dark to find out? Let's find out!
The Midnight Walk doesn’t explain itself right away. Instead, it places you in the worn shoes of the Burnt One—a silent figure covered in ash, with no memory of what came before. You wake beside a creature named Potboy, who carries a flame inside his head and follows you without hesitation. There’s also Housy, a moving shelter that acts as your home between chapters. That’s about all the game gives you at the start.
The story unfolds across six disconnected chapters. Each one feels like its own short tale, with strange settings and vague rules. Some feature eerie temples, others take place in forgotten woods or crumbling towns. They don’t link together through plot in the usual way, but there’s a thread pulling them along—something about loss, creation, and maybe regret. You’re not told what happened, or what you’re supposed to fix. You simply keep going, hoping the pieces will make more sense the further you go.
Clues come through item descriptions, faded murals, and quiet conversations. Even the way you first come to life—stepping from a coffin after what seems to be an eternal rest—feels like part of a bigger story. It’s not spelled out, but it fits. Optional collectibles that get stored inside Housy offer some insight, adding context to things you’ve already seen. One even explains why the monsters eat you whole, which makes the whole death system feel more like part of the world than a game mechanic.
The writing stays cryptic without being frustrating. Dialogue is sparse, often delivered in poetic fragments or whispered phrases. Some characters seem to know more than they’re saying, while others speak in riddles. One creature refers to itself as “unfinished,” while another asks if it remembers being made. It’s weird in a good way, and it suits the setting.
By the time you reach the end, you may not have every answer, but that doesn’t feel like a mistake. The narrative thrives on its enigma, trusting players to piece together the clues. The focus on mood over clarity suits the game’s style. It feels like a dream you mostly remember—disjointed, but still meaningful.
At its core, The Midnight Walk blends stealth with methodical exploration. It doesn’t rush you or flood you with systems. Instead, it asks for patience. You spend most of the game strolling carefully through unfamiliar places, avoiding threatening creatures, and trying not to make noise. There’s no fighting, no weapons, no skill tree. You survive by watching and waiting.
Potboy, your loyal companion, can illuminate dark paths, activate switches, and heat objects, though his flame can attract unwanted attention, so you have to think twice before using him. In one section, I had to cross a pitch-black hallway full of sound-sensitive enemies. I could barely see, but using Potboy’s light would have drawn them straight to me. I ended up guiding him through a side tunnel instead, activating a furnace that lit the path just long enough for me to slip through.
That kind of decision-making is where the game shines. You’re not solving complex puzzles or mastering reflex-based systems. You’re observing, reacting, and trying to stay one step ahead. Sometimes that means hiding in a cupboard. Other times, it’s figuring out how to reach a distant candle with a match launcher or feeding Potboy some coal to boost his brightness. These small actions help you keep moving forward, even if they don’t always lead to bigger mechanics.
Some tools are introduced only to be rarely used, showing up once or twice, then disappear for good. You get the sense that the game could’ve gone deeper with some of its ideas, but it rarely feels unfinished—just a bit restrained. That might bother those looking for more variety, but it matches the eerie tone.
The pacing helps everything settle. It's deliberate, with long stretches of exploration punctuated by subtle interactions. When puzzles do appear, they’re usually simple and intuitive—meant to slow you down, not stump you. It’s about creating mood, not challenge.
Whether you play on a standard screen or in VR, the controls are smooth and consistent. I didn’t notice any real technical issues, and the game saves often enough that mistakes never feel punishing. The whole thing plays like a puzzling ritual, and the mechanics do just enough to support that idea without getting in the way.
The Midnight Walk doesn’t look or sound like anything else out there. Every environment, character, and creature was physically sculpted from clay, then brought into the game using stop-motion animation. The result is a world that feels old, worn, and strangely alive. There’s a slight stiffness to how things move, but instead of breaking the experience, it adds to the atmosphere. That handmade style gives the game an odd charm—familiar one moment and deeply unsettling the next.
Each location feels like a miniature set, full of texture and purpose. Twisted forests, sagging houses, flickering candlelit tunnels—everything seems shaped by human hands. You’ll notice the rough edges and tiny imperfections in every frame. Those flaws aren’t accidents; they make everything feel real. Candle Valley, one of the later areas, sticks out. It's dimly lit, oddly quiet, and full of perplexing shapes that never quite sit still.
The character designs carry just as much weight. Potboy, with his delicate frame and glowing flame, feels fragile yet expressive. The Burnt One has a slumped posture and simple features, always looking slightly out of place. And then there’s Moonbird, who floats high above you with a grin that never fades. That design choice—always keeping them just out of reach—creates this constant tension that’s hard to shake.
The sound design is crucial in building this world. Ambient noise is used sparingly but intentionally. You’ll often hear only your own footsteps, the soft crackle of Potboy’s flame, or something breathing just out of view. The music fades in and out—sometimes a faint lullaby, sometimes nothing at all. When you do hear something unexpected, it hits harder because of how moody the game usually is. In VR especially, the sounds made me flinch more than once.
Performance-wise, the game runs well. I didn’t run into any major issues, and the load times were short. Animations are smooth, even with the stop-motion approach. It’s not flashy, but it’s focused. Every frame feels intentional. You can tell the team knew exactly what they wanted the world to look and sound like, and they delivered on the vision.
Final Score: 8/10 - Great
Developer: MoonHood
Publisher: Fast Travel Games
Genre: Adventure
Modes: Single-player
A key was provided by the publisher.
By Paul Hunter
Some games ask for your attention. Others ask for your time. But The Midnight Walk asks something different—simply asks for you to be there, in the moment. This first-person horror stealth title comes from MoonHood, comprised of members behind the hit titles Lost in Random, Fe and Ghost Giant. It's published by Fast Travel Games and is available now on PC (Steam), PlayStation 5, and PSVR2.
What sets it apart isn’t just its style, but the process behind it. Every environment, character, and creature is sculpted from clay and animated using stop-motion. If you ever watched The Nightmare Before Christmas and thought "I'd love to play a game that looks like this," then this is the game for you. There’s an unexpected warmth to the claymation—even when things turn bleak. You’ll explore decaying forests, speak with odd companions, and sneak past monsters that seem half-alive, half-forgotten.
MoonHood takes a subtle approach here. Jump scares are rare, as are long tutorials. Instead, you make your way through stories that feel whispered rather than shouted. It’s haunting, cryptic, and tinged with melancholy, but in a way that feels right. It sticks with you, especially if you take your time.
We’ll dive into how the story, gameplay, visuals, and sound all come together to create that unique vibe. There are a few bumps along the way, but nothing that derails the overall experience. Does this atmospheric clay-and-shadow journey hold up, and is it worth stepping into the dark to find out? Let's find out!
The Midnight Walk doesn’t explain itself right away. Instead, it places you in the worn shoes of the Burnt One—a silent figure covered in ash, with no memory of what came before. You wake beside a creature named Potboy, who carries a flame inside his head and follows you without hesitation. There’s also Housy, a moving shelter that acts as your home between chapters. That’s about all the game gives you at the start.
The story unfolds across six disconnected chapters. Each one feels like its own short tale, with strange settings and vague rules. Some feature eerie temples, others take place in forgotten woods or crumbling towns. They don’t link together through plot in the usual way, but there’s a thread pulling them along—something about loss, creation, and maybe regret. You’re not told what happened, or what you’re supposed to fix. You simply keep going, hoping the pieces will make more sense the further you go.
Clues come through item descriptions, faded murals, and quiet conversations. Even the way you first come to life—stepping from a coffin after what seems to be an eternal rest—feels like part of a bigger story. It’s not spelled out, but it fits. Optional collectibles that get stored inside Housy offer some insight, adding context to things you’ve already seen. One even explains why the monsters eat you whole, which makes the whole death system feel more like part of the world than a game mechanic.
The writing stays cryptic without being frustrating. Dialogue is sparse, often delivered in poetic fragments or whispered phrases. Some characters seem to know more than they’re saying, while others speak in riddles. One creature refers to itself as “unfinished,” while another asks if it remembers being made. It’s weird in a good way, and it suits the setting.
By the time you reach the end, you may not have every answer, but that doesn’t feel like a mistake. The narrative thrives on its enigma, trusting players to piece together the clues. The focus on mood over clarity suits the game’s style. It feels like a dream you mostly remember—disjointed, but still meaningful.
At its core, The Midnight Walk blends stealth with methodical exploration. It doesn’t rush you or flood you with systems. Instead, it asks for patience. You spend most of the game strolling carefully through unfamiliar places, avoiding threatening creatures, and trying not to make noise. There’s no fighting, no weapons, no skill tree. You survive by watching and waiting.
Potboy, your loyal companion, can illuminate dark paths, activate switches, and heat objects, though his flame can attract unwanted attention, so you have to think twice before using him. In one section, I had to cross a pitch-black hallway full of sound-sensitive enemies. I could barely see, but using Potboy’s light would have drawn them straight to me. I ended up guiding him through a side tunnel instead, activating a furnace that lit the path just long enough for me to slip through.
That kind of decision-making is where the game shines. You’re not solving complex puzzles or mastering reflex-based systems. You’re observing, reacting, and trying to stay one step ahead. Sometimes that means hiding in a cupboard. Other times, it’s figuring out how to reach a distant candle with a match launcher or feeding Potboy some coal to boost his brightness. These small actions help you keep moving forward, even if they don’t always lead to bigger mechanics.
Some tools are introduced only to be rarely used, showing up once or twice, then disappear for good. You get the sense that the game could’ve gone deeper with some of its ideas, but it rarely feels unfinished—just a bit restrained. That might bother those looking for more variety, but it matches the eerie tone.
The pacing helps everything settle. It's deliberate, with long stretches of exploration punctuated by subtle interactions. When puzzles do appear, they’re usually simple and intuitive—meant to slow you down, not stump you. It’s about creating mood, not challenge.
Whether you play on a standard screen or in VR, the controls are smooth and consistent. I didn’t notice any real technical issues, and the game saves often enough that mistakes never feel punishing. The whole thing plays like a puzzling ritual, and the mechanics do just enough to support that idea without getting in the way.
The Midnight Walk doesn’t look or sound like anything else out there. Every environment, character, and creature was physically sculpted from clay, then brought into the game using stop-motion animation. The result is a world that feels old, worn, and strangely alive. There’s a slight stiffness to how things move, but instead of breaking the experience, it adds to the atmosphere. That handmade style gives the game an odd charm—familiar one moment and deeply unsettling the next.
Each location feels like a miniature set, full of texture and purpose. Twisted forests, sagging houses, flickering candlelit tunnels—everything seems shaped by human hands. You’ll notice the rough edges and tiny imperfections in every frame. Those flaws aren’t accidents; they make everything feel real. Candle Valley, one of the later areas, sticks out. It's dimly lit, oddly quiet, and full of perplexing shapes that never quite sit still.
The character designs carry just as much weight. Potboy, with his delicate frame and glowing flame, feels fragile yet expressive. The Burnt One has a slumped posture and simple features, always looking slightly out of place. And then there’s Moonbird, who floats high above you with a grin that never fades. That design choice—always keeping them just out of reach—creates this constant tension that’s hard to shake.
The sound design is crucial in building this world. Ambient noise is used sparingly but intentionally. You’ll often hear only your own footsteps, the soft crackle of Potboy’s flame, or something breathing just out of view. The music fades in and out—sometimes a faint lullaby, sometimes nothing at all. When you do hear something unexpected, it hits harder because of how moody the game usually is. In VR especially, the sounds made me flinch more than once.
Performance-wise, the game runs well. I didn’t run into any major issues, and the load times were short. Animations are smooth, even with the stop-motion approach. It’s not flashy, but it’s focused. Every frame feels intentional. You can tell the team knew exactly what they wanted the world to look and sound like, and they delivered on the vision.
The Verdict
The Midnight Walk offers a haunting and reflective experience, blending stealth, puzzle-solving, and a unique handcrafted clay world. Its slow-paced narrative, built through environmental storytelling and cryptic dialogue, invites you to uncover meaning at your own pace. While some gameplay mechanics feel underexplored, the inclusion of Potboy as a companion adds a compelling dynamic. The stop-motion animation is a technical and artistic marvel, elevating the atmosphere, while the sound design enhances the eerie tone. Despite a few imperfections, the game succeeds in delivering a journey that lingers, focused more on the experience and mood than providing tidy answers.Final Score: 8/10 - Great
The Midnight Walk details
Platform: PS5, PSVR2, PCDeveloper: MoonHood
Publisher: Fast Travel Games
Genre: Adventure
Modes: Single-player
A key was provided by the publisher.