Team Review: Dead Letter Dept. (PC)

In today’s world, we’re often glued to our screens, tapping away at emails to reach out to colleagues or filling out insurance forms. So, stumbling upon a game where you’re stuck in front of a virtual computer, typing addresses, paragraphs, and whatnot might not be what you’d expect. But let me introduce you to Dead Letter Dept., a bizarre and unsettling game that throws you into a creepy dimension right from the get-go. I can’t help but recall my time at an accounting firm, a monotonous job that had me keying in client details for hours, all while a Spotify playlist became my lifeline.

Dead Letter Dept. is a first-person horror experience that revolves around the monotonous task of entering details from aged, undelivered mail. Some are letters, some are just addresses, others are article clippings, and there’s even incomprehensible, alien-like stuff thrown into the mix. The protagonist starts off as an ordinary individual holed up in a cramped apartment, with boxes yet to be unpacked in a bustling city, and lands a temporary data entry gig. The game’s environment is dystopian, with its industrial corridors reminiscent of prisons and lights casting ghostly shadows. Yet, amidst this, when I stumbled upon my assigned computer, a relic from the ’90s, there was a surprising sense of comfort.

The initial workday in the game is straightforward, but something feels off with the content. While I wouldn’t call myself a typing guru, I clock in at about 67-69 words per minute with a decent 92-93% accuracy. While speed and precision aren’t a deal-breaker in Dead Letter Dept., it was a curious overlap of honing practical typing skills amidst an eerie game. As you dive deeper into the narrative, the night’s letters and visuals start emanating some serial killer vibes, adding layers of dread without resorting to typical horror game jump scares.

Dead Letter Dept. presents psychological horror at its zenith. It’s less about sudden scares—though I did find myself jolted a couple of times—and more about the creeping unease of being watched. There’s this growing dread as random text begins to spiral into a narrative that seems disturbingly personal. You find yourself retracing the unknown steps of the character, drawn from another city, possibly woven into a horrific past or privy to forbidden knowledge.

The game spans six simulated workdays and can easily be completed in around three hours. Thanks to its assortment of possible endings, it boasts significant replay value. But it’s not for those with short attention spans—this game demands uninterrupted immersion for full impact. Dropping in and out breaks the spell and might leave you seeing it merely as another typing challenge.

Even as a non-horror enthusiast, the game hooked me—marrying the premise of a typing genre with riveting storylines. It offers much without overwhelming non-horror fans like myself, inviting players less inclined toward spooky games.

In terms of execution, Dead Letter Dept. nails it. Its unsettling atmosphere doesn’t rely on gore, and the controls and music blend seamlessly to enhance the storyline. Navigating this eerie short story of a game is something you’d want to do more than once.

Typically, I’d be lurking next to a brave player like Madeleine, but this time around, diving solo into Dead Letter Dept. was a surprising delight. I wholeheartedly recommend it, even to those of us a bit wary of venturing into the dark. Consider this your invitation to join this thrilling plunge into a typing task that keeps delivering shocks.

(Reviewer’s note: This review is based on a copy provided by the publisher.)

Review Summary:

• Gameplay: 10/10
• Plot/Writing: 9/10
• Design/Visuals: 8/10
• Replayability: 9/10

Overall Score: 9/10

Summary: Dead Letter Dept. is a chilling journey into psychological horror, weaving simple data entry chores into a gripping horror narrative. It’s not just a game; it’s a must-have for horror aficionados. Even if horror isn’t your usual fare, you’re bound to find something thrilling in its eerie offerings.