My creation

This was a confusing experience.

It began at the IFComp website listing which claimed this is both Twine and parser-based — how does that work, perhaps a Twine game with text input? My mind drifted to this recent forum discussion on whether certain authoring systems can only create either parser or choiced-based games. The downloaded folder has both a .gblorb and an index.html file, so then I thought perhaps this has both Twine and parser versions. I’ve seen that done before, it’s interesting to compare the differences in implementation. But the html files only led to a browser-playable version of the gblorb, so the Twine listing appears to be just an error and I was overthinking it.

Over the next 20 minutes I went through this cycle several times. Some aspect of the game would be thought-provoking and lead to interesting musings in my little notebook, only to realise the source is an error and I was looking for meaning where there perhaps is none.

Upon launching a parser game, the instinct is is to first type ABOUT then EXAMINE every noun in sight. We start the game in the middle of a bed in a small bedroom, with the bed, a bookcase, a nightstand, and a basket. And a baby. The intro, the ABOUT text, the game summary, they are all very insistent that there is a baby and the baby is crying.

So it was very disconcerting when X BABY was met with You can’t see any such thing. X BED? You can’t see any such thing, despite laying in the middle of it. X BASKET, X BOOKCASE, X NIGHTSTAND? The same.

At this point I thought this was intentional. The summary and game intro had a surreal, unsettling quality: the rattling windows, the too-big bed, the sense of isolation and confinement. None of the immediate nouns being apparently implemented gave the impression of floating in a void, strangely detatched from reality, which fit right in with the surreal first impressions. Maybe this is some sort of dream realm or representation of the protagonist’s mental state. Maybe you’re being haunted by this disembodied baby that you can hear but not see, why not?

Then X ME yielded the default As good-looking as ever, a distinctly not-surreal statement, and my hopes began to falter. Then I tried moving north and south, and realised what’s going on.

Different parts of the bed are implemented as separate rooms. I do like this as a design choice — it emphasises that the bed is, currently, the protagonist’s whole world, that just moving from one end to another take significant effort. I was particularly taken by the description of the “out of the bed” area, the protagonist dragging himself halfway off the bed and reaching out with one hand braced on the cold floor. Very evocative.

However, this does mean Inform assumes that objects (and babies) are not visible or interactable outside of the ‘room’ they’re in, and the author has not taken steps to correct this. Now I could try to rationalise this — if the protagonist is laying on his back he will see only the ceiling, and naturally cannot see a baby on the floor next to the bed, nor a low bookcase. But trying to read to the baby from the bottom of the bed does not work because you can’t see any such thing, and none of the furniture seems to be implemented at all, and the reasoning falls apart.

I could keep going with the overthinking. Maybe the response to LISTEN being the default You hear nothing unexpected means the baby’s crying is so constant it has become expected background noise. Maybe the the end monologue concluding with (the end) but not actually ending the game is saying something about the unending, inescapable demands of single parenthood. These were enjoyable musings, but almost certainly not intended by the author.

I realise I haven’t yet said anything about the actual plot of the game, which is revealed in a long monologue at the very end of the game. It is an unusual ‘twist’ that makes the story less surreal and more mundane that it first appears, yet I enjoyed the characterisation of the protagonist as a new parent exhausted and in pain, making a valiant effort to find humour and express genuine love for his child. The 6-paragraph-long passage, after a game mostly consisting of short (or non-existent) descriptions, felt like a cathartic release, a sudden outpouring of emotion.

Or mabye I’m just overthinking again.

The #1 guideline on IFComp's Guidelines for IFComp authors is to playtest your game and credit your testers. This game credits no testers; it seems pretty clear that it didn't have any.

Here's what would have been my beta feedback:

• The space is divided up into four locations, "middle of the bed," "Top of bed," "Bottom of the bed" and "out of the bed". But the game provides approximately no affordances to discover how to get there, nothing except the "HELP" command that suggests "There are four directions, move with the GO (north, south, east or west) command."

  Instead, I suggest describing location exits in every room description. "The top of the bed is south. The bottom of the bed is north. You can get out of the bed to the east."

• In "middle of the bed," it says "You can see a basket here." By convention, "here" implies that the basket is in the current location with you, in the middle of the bed. But if you try to "get basket" from "middle of the bed," it says, "You can’t possibly reach that basket from the middle of the bed." Because the basket isn't here, it's in the "out of the bed" location to the east.

  Ideally you'd write some code that would tell the player where the basket and/or baby is, wherever they may be. "The baby is in the basket outside the bed to the east." "The baby is at the top of the bed. The basket is at the bottom of the bed."

  Barring that, you could just not mention the basket at all in the "middle of the bed." Inform will describe it automatically when the player gets out of the bed.

• (Spoiler - click to show)`READ BOOK` didn't make it clear enough that I was reading the book silently, that I wasn't reading the book _aloud_. The winning move is to `READ BOOK TO BABY`, which I couldn't figure out on my own; I had to decompile the game with mrifk https://github.com/wertercatt/mrifk/ to figure it out.
• The room description for "Top of the bed" says, "You look at your phone, but no new messages. You take a sip of water from your glass." But if you pick up your phone and water and drop them elsewhere, it still says that. Instead, I think it should say that your "nightstand" is here. It should tell you that there are no new messages if you look at your phone, wherever you are.
• DRINK WATER says "there's nothing suitable to drink here," even if you're at the top of the bed with the water.
• "out of the bed" says "An empty basket lies on the floor next to your bed." But, by default, the baby is in the basket, so that's not true.
• (Spoiler - click to show)`READ BOOK TO BABY` prints out a parenthetical "(the end)", but instead it should end the game saying "The End."
• FEED BABY assumes you mean "(to yourself)" and says "You can't feed the baby to yourself. That is obviously not what I meant! Instead, it should print a message that it's not feeding time yet.
• All of the plot comes across in the last move, as you (Spoiler - click to show)READ BOOK TO BABY. But I think it would make sense to move some of that information to any of the various COMFORT BABY, KISS BABY, etc. commands so it's not such a huge wall of text at the end.

(This is an edited version of a review originally published in my blog during IFComp 2025.)

my creation is a short (10 minutes) parser game in which the PC is a dad stuck in bed in a rickety house with his crying baby. You would never guess this from the cover art, a design which will only resonate if you complete the game.

Endlessly crying babies raise human hackles at a primordial level, so the game's temporal depiction of that common experience of shuffling around a room one can't leave while the crying can't be stopped is likely to knife (or knife anew) anyone who tries it, in spite of major implementation gaps. It's clear my creation hasn't had a testing round or received any technical advice, but I commend the author for bringing a story like this to the parser format on their own.

It's important to say there's ultimately more to the game than the screaming baby. If that had been the whole thing, it would be an uninviting ask of players to say the least. It's tough as is. But there is more. I will discuss the more with complete spoilering in the remainder of this review.

The PC's in the bed and the baby's in a nearby basket, crying. Where the geography of the parser model really works for this game is making the bed into the PC's world. For reasons not made clear until the end, the prose indicates the PC is in physical pain and inhibited in movement, so each NORTH, SOUTH etc. drags them, with effort, to another section of the bed. The efforts are described. On the one hand, the idea of thinking about compass directions while moving around a bed is absurd. Obviously we're not meant to be thinking about them, they're just the stock method of movement in a parser game. For a new author to program up some replacement terminology would be a big ask, so in this case, it shows the author working with the strengths of the format, but also the need to bend the format's stock trappings to the game. In prose, it's also effective for the bed world that the game's opening paragraph is written in the third person (the rest of the game is in typical parser second person) offering a bird's eye view of the situation:

"He is lying in his bed, in his bedroom, in his own crooked little house with small windows, single glass, overlooking other crooked houses;"

The cut from this intro text into the "middle of the bed" location, the change of scale and pronoun and person, all act together like a magnifying glass zooming in on the PC's situation, where suddenly one bed seems giant.

The geography of the bed isn't respected in the programming, though. There's a constant mismatch between what's described, what can be acted on, where things are. This doesn't block progress – the game is too small for that – but it does interrupt the spell of the fiction and so reduce its power. One inadvertent side-effect was that I was chuckling at my gauche handling of such props as the baby or the basket, but at the same time I experienced a kind of remote terror in handling them. Like, god, I hope the game won't let me DROP the baby in any bad way.

I was surprised when, having found a copy of the novel Frankenstein near the bed, I typed READ BOOK and was suddenly hit with an almost 700-word excerpt. This moment broke the dirge of the baby situation and made me re-engage afresh. I also admit that my kneejerk reaction to the idea of reading Frankenstein to a baby was laughter, but I remembered a second later, of course you can read anything to a baby with a chance of soothing the baby. Reading Frankenstein to this baby is the winning move. It leads to another text block, this one almost 800 words, in which the dad monologues to the restful baby.

The monologue drops the details of the story into place. It's not a twist, but narratively it has some of the functions of a twist of a short story. The dad's in pain in bed because he's had gender-changing surgery, but before that he gave birth to the child. The monologue muses on their possible future and their future relationship. It's certainly a breather after the oppression of game-long crying, and the dewy-eyed intimacy of the moment feels real. In the context of what's come before, which gave away little, and only a little bit at a time, 800 words straight up inevitably feels expositional. That's how I/we typically respond to story structures and lengths after we've encountered enough of them. But the monologue doesn't feel expositional in a "nobody would say all this" kind of way, and I think that's more important. It reads authentic and illuminates the sketched character of the dad. The value of Frankenstein is now also apparent, its tale of human creation and unusual birth and an outsider human in an unusual body resonant with the PC's experiences.

I valued my creation more after playing it and after thinking about it than during the playing, at which time the implementation was kicking the atmosphere every few moves. Even implementation can't stop a baby crying baby, though.