Even though there aren’t any monsters or even a story to speak of in Cloverpit, it’s still kind of a nightmarish scenario. Think about it, you go to sleep in your own bed only to wake up in a crude metal cell with a collapsible floor and voice telling you over loudspeaker that the only way out is to gamble with your life. You’ve also got a half-broken toilet in one corner and a waste container full of viscera in the other, possibly the remains of previous victims. Yikes!
But, then you start playing the slot machine that your life is depending on and start collecting lucky charms to influence it. Some of them are appropriately ominous like Hamsa and Reverse Hamsa. Some of them are outright scary like the Evil Deal and Magical Tomato. But some, some are just…goofy. Stuff like Stonks, Swoll Cat, Raging Capitalist and One Trick Pony…it’s as if the guy larping as Saw is just messing with you.
Being forced to gamble for your life should be something utterly terrifying and nerve wracking, yet here you are using the Wheelbarrow from Monopoly to earn Chuck E Cheese tickets so that you can then spend those tickets on polaroid picture of a cherry and a literal #2 in a jar, all of which will somehow earn you more coins in the slot machine and keep you alive a little longer.
Eventually, you even catch yourself thinking ridiculous things like, “man, if only I could find that can of sardines!” or “a rotten pepper right now would be awesome!” Nevermind the ever-increasing money goals or the fact that you’re drawing ever close to the floor literally falling out from under you. As long as you’ve got a horseshoe and a big bell pepper, you’ll be laughing your way to the bank! Right?
The horror tries to re-assert itself, of course. You start getting phone calls from inhuman-sounding entities, and actually creepy objects can start showing up on your desk. Yet, there’s something about a down-shifted cat’s meow that just cuts through it all. It’s only at the end, when the wins aren’t big enough to meet the quota and the room starts shaking that you remember what’s at stake here.
Then suddenly, you wake up again. You’re back in the room; the voice welcomes you, and the slot machine chimes in with its catchphrase “Let’s Go Gambling!” And, suddenly you’re like “Oh, look! The One Trick Pony is already available! I gotta jump back in and strike while the machine is still hot! I hope I can find the cat again, it’s so goofy!” Surely this time will be different, right?
Perhaps this is the true horror of Cloverpit: how easily the fun and silliness distracts from the very serious situation. I dunno if this is the intention of the creators, but I can’t help but notice a parallel with the slot machines seen in real life gambling halls.
Everything about their design is a distraction: flashing lights, exciting events, funny animations, little wins strung out across a long period of time…all to keep you from thinking about all the money you’re feeding into them. It’s excitement, thrills and laughs, but at a great cost (sometimes even a devastating one). Do you feel it in the moment? No. But you will soon enough.
Cloverpit is very much a spoopy game on its surface, but something deeper lurks just under it. I mean, there’s not even a scenario where the player is truly able to escape. You can get out of the room, but you either find yourself right back in it or you wind up in another room that differs from the previous one only in name. I imagine it’s just like dealing with anything that’s got a hold on you; kicking it requires not engaging at all, but even if one manages that, the danger of relapse is ever present. (And that’s definitely not just “spoopy”.)
Well, on that note, happy Spooptober everyone! Don’t worry, we’ll be going much more lighthearted from here on, so stay tuned! For now though, what’s a game you’ve played wherein the themes were much more scary than the contents?
Image by Hatm0nster, Screenshot captured by TheDuckofIndeed