DON’T FEED IT

In DON’T FEED IT, the player is trapped in a wooden cabin that seems forgotten by time. Inside, notes offer a single command: feed it, and only during daylight. Each day begins with that obligation. The environment doesn’t change much, but the air gets heavier, and the sounds grow stranger. With each cycle, a sense of urgency increases—not from a clock, but from something unseen pressing closer. You move between rooms, check your surroundings, and carry out the task without fully understanding what you’re enabling.

Never at Night

Time passes in loops. The days are numbered, and you are told not to feed it once the sun sets. That’s when things truly shift. The cabin becomes unsafe, not through jumpscares but through subtle unease and interruption. You hear breathing where there should be none. The lines between obedience and survival start to blur. The longer you stay, the harder it is to distinguish between doing what’s required and doing what’s right. One rule remains unbroken: never feed it after dark.

Layers Beneath the Surface

The game draws heavily from analog horror aesthetics, relying on visual texture and environmental pacing. The controls are minimal, and the space is tight, but each interaction feels deliberate. There are multiple endings, though none offer complete closure. The goal is not to escape, but to endure, to follow the command to its inevitable consequence—or question it. DON’T FEED IT is a title, and a warning, one that players will understand only once it’s too late.