Silent Hill

Few games have managed to etch themselves into the collective psyche of gamers quite like Silent Hill. It’s not just some haunted house simulator - it’s a spiral of dread, wrapped in fog and radio static. Where most horror games throw monsters at you, Silent Hill burrows deep into your subconscious and makes you live your fears.

The fog isn't just a clever trick to hide limited graphics either - it’s a metaphor for your life choices. Visibility: zero. Anxiety: maxed. And just when you think it’s safe, the town flips into “Hell Edition,” which looks like your worst nightmares.

What you hear, too, is sometimes more terrifying than what you see. Akira Yamaoka’s score is a masterclass in auditory unease. From the soundscape’s eerily industrial clanks to its melancholic piano melodies, you always feel like you’re drowning in the unknown.

Silent Hill isn’t just a game you beat, it’s a mirror you stare into for too long. Decades later, its fog still lingers and its questions still haunt. In a word: timeless.