Ultra-Indie Daily Dose: Leftovers
Hello, you glorious gluttons for all things indie horror! Are you just starving for the newest of the new, the most unknownest of the unknown? If so, you’ve come to the right place. Welcome to the Ultra-Indie Daily Dose! In this series, we’re going to pick a new game every day from an indie horror creator you’ve probably never heard of. No million-dollar budgets or factory productions. This is the space for the little guy with not but a developer toolkit and a dream. So if you’re down to roll the dice on something different, then stick around and check it out!
Welcome back to your Daily Dose of hot and freshly cooked Indie Horror! Arriving my doorstep is the tasty treat Leftovers, developed by Realmpact and Skekarin. A short and dubiously sweet monochromatic game about being the biggest bravest lad, and talking to strangers.
Busily distant, your mother endlessly slaves over counter and stove. Seemingly her work is never simply over with, and she just can’t stand to see her home-cooked meals go to waste. I know we’ve been told to never talk to strangers, but just this once mother has a very important job. Deliver the Leftovers to all of your friendly, and certainly normal neighbors. Don’t come back until your hands are clean. The cardboard boxes burn your fingers with each door knocked. Estranged hand-drawn faces, bursting your personal bubble begrudgingly accept the offering, and skulk back into the shadows of noninteraction. Be careful who you talk to, some people are even less inclined to accept steaming, slimy food from strange children in the middle of the Night. Least of all your sneering school bully who plays torture games by stealing dog food. Or that crusty old man with the single eye.
After pacing from floor to floor in an earnest panic to empty those pockets of this mysterious dinner, you stop with the last grey box. Nervously anticipating the next and final knock. After all, Mother would kill you if you came home early again. Take a deep breath. A surprisingly normal face leers at you from a height. Remembering her as father’s sickeningly sweet “friend”, you nervously outstretch your hands with the last sacrifice of now lukewarm slop. How kind of you to think of her! It smells delicious until… Her beyond-saccharine smile had left her inked face in a moment’s rage after inspecting the food. Come to think of it… Where has father been all Night? You haven’t seen him, have you?