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Your sister disappeared 15 years ago. Now you're back and whatever took her is still there. First-person psychological horror, no combat. Survive entities that each hunt differently. Relive her memories as playable experiences. Connect your real phone to detect and face threats.
Your sister Emily disappeared when she was eight years old. You were twelve. That was fifteen years ago — and you have spent every one of them trying not to think about what you did, and what you didn't do.
Now something has brought you back. Back to the dark, the trees, the house at the end of a road that no one in town will talk about. You are Cara, seen through her own eyes. You have no weapon, no backup, no plan. Only the weight of fifteen years — and the growing certainty that whatever took Emily is still here, and has been waiting for you to return.
The Disappearance of Emily Crowe is a first-person psychological horror game about a sister, a search, and the terrible things that live in the space between memory and truth. A 3–5 hour single-session experience from Nemoris Games — a studio with 20 years and 25+ games behind it, making its first appearance on Steam.
This game contains depictions of childhood trauma and domestic violence. They are handled with care — and they are not the worst things you will find here.
Connect your real smartphone to the game and it connects to Cara's phone — not a controller, something more.
Hold it up and it picks up interference when an entity is close. Use it to navigate dead ends, to confront what the house is hiding, and to read signals the screen in front of you cannot show you. The phone transforms what you're holding from a passive device into something that feels genuinely necessary inside a place this dark.
Full companion app launching free on the App Store and Google Play alongside the game. A free Android APK is available now for demo players — download link inside the game.
The forest does not want you here. Neither does the house.
The things you encounter do not share the same rules — or the same nature. There are shadows that exist peacefully until the moment you look directly at them — then they come. There is a figure that moves like a damaged body, slow and deliberate, tracking the sound of your footsteps, the creak of a floorboard, the shallow rhythm of a panicked breath. Something that rises from the ground where you least expect it. Things that move low and fast through dark spaces, ignoring sound entirely, hunting by the light you need to see.
You will need to learn each of them. You will make mistakes while you do.
There is no combat. Only awareness, stealth… and fear.
Every room you enter, you are already asking: what is in here, what does it respond to, and where can I hide?
As you search for Emily, you will find cracks — moments where the present gives way to something older. These are memories. Cara's memories. They pull you backward into scenes that feel like they should be familiar, and aren't.
These are not cutscenes. You inhabit them. You can fail to survive them.
In one, you are young again, inside the house, and your father is drunk and searching. You can hear him moving through the rooms, calling your names. There is no monster here — just a man and the particular terror of a child who knows exactly what happens if she's found. You must stay hidden. You must stay quiet.
In another, you are outside in the sun. You and Emily, throwing a ball. The light is warm. She is laughing. And something is wrong — not dramatically, not obviously, but deeply and undeniably wrong. Objects that shouldn't be there. A quality to the silence beneath the sound. The memory of a perfect day that isn't quite a perfect day.
Other memories ask different things of you. In one, you must move through a space until you find the exact position, the exact angle — and take a photograph that matches one you've already seen. In another, you search a house for scattered documents, piecing together something that was deliberately hidden. You look for keys. You look for objects. You look for the shape of a past that keeps rearranging itself.
Not every memory is what it appears to be. And not every one will let you leave easily.
The house and the forest surrounding it are not a series of corridors to clear. Rooms connect to other rooms unexpectedly. Paths you passed earlier look different when you return to them. What you can access shifts as you learn more — about Cara, about Emily, about what happened here.
You will backtrack. You will notice things on the second pass that you missed on the first. That is by design.
Emily has been gone for fift
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