The scariest horror game I've played this year is actually DLC for 2024's best driving sim

It takes a lot for even the best horror games to really spook me. Put it down to a very early introduction to Resident Evil as a precocious preschooler, or my annual Halloween pilgrimage through Silent Hill 2. Either way, I've become so desensitized to the tricks of the horror game trade that even the most elaborate jumpscare has become rote. Instead, it's often games that aren't specifically horror that are the most likely to get me spooked, especially ones driven by emergent gameplay. That's where Pacific Drive comes in.

Pacific Drive was one of my biggest surprises of 2024. As someone who has little interest in driving sims and finds the hoard-and-craft routine of survival games a bit of a chore, I went into the Olympic Exclusion Zone with plenty of reservations. I discovered a Pacific Northwestern roguelike teeming with cryptids and starring a car I'll love until it (literally) kills me. To quote my review: "Pacific Drive is not a horror game, but when I'm forced to traverse through a forest smothered by an eerie darkness, pursued by something moving between the trees, it certainly feels like one."

Pacific Drive may not be a horror game, but its first story DLC wants to change that. Whispers in the Woods is a lodestone on Pacific Drive's roadmap, following a modest assortment of cosmetic packs after its initial release over a year and a half ago. In some respects, it's a safe bet. From Red Dead Redemption's Undead Nightmare to The Outer Wilds' Echoes of the Eye, spooky DLC for non-horror games almost always goes down well. Whispers in the Woods is closer to the latter than the former, less of an arcade-style novelty than an expansion of Pacific Drive's universe.

Whispers in the Woods is a story of occultism. It takes us back into the Olympic Exclusion Zone, but it's reading from a different book on the weird fiction shelf. Where Pacific Drive's story gradually unpacks ARDA, LIM technology, and the sordid history of the Olympic Exclusion Zone, the DLC turns its gaze to the ordinary citizens who once lived within it. What becomes of a child who grew up in the bosom of a government experiment? How does the existence of anomalies warp their worldview? What must they do to survive after the disaster? We're still in VanderMeerian territory, but seen through a folk horror lens.

There are no jumpscares here. Instead, Ironwood Studios taps into the same creeping anxiety and panic as the base game, then dials it up to eleven. If you've ever accidentally panic-driven Pacific Drive's station wagon off a cliff just to avoid the radiation ring of death, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. Now reimagine that ring of death as a horror movie chase, and you get Whispers in the Woods. Over time, my map screen becomes pockmarked with red icons that indicate the Whispering Tide's manifestations closing in on my position. I see them in snatches, usually as I'm running my engine ragged to get past before they notice me: a dark procession of shadows; antlered figures that fly at my windscreen; worse, the Maw.

Even the most blood-curdling horror games become that little bit less scary once you come face-to-face with the horror in question. Whether it's Lisa in PT or Amnesia The Bunker's beast, seeing is believing is understanding. By contrast, Pacific Drive's Whispering Tide is beyond comprehension. It is a malevolent force comprised of darkness and blood-red warning lights. Its ever-shifting form is by turns arachnoid and oddly human, and the physical force that propels it across the Olympic Exclusion Zone becomes a liquid wave once it's close enough to consume you. Even this close, I'm not afforded a glimpse of its true form. Instead, my field of view is overwhelmed by a chromatic miasma that flickers and spasms, making it all the more difficult to put my car in drive and peel away.

Part of the fear comes from consequence. The Olympic Exclusion Zone has always been a little cutthroat, spitting you back at Oppy's auto shop at the end of a failed run with an empty backpack and your battered station wagon stripped half-bare. However, if you've been playing Pacific Drive since release day, even the most weather-beaten, anomaly-stricken routes through the Zone shouldn't give you too much trouble. Whispers in the Woods is hostile to another degree. Its soundscape hums with menace, but it's not just noise. In Whispers in the Woods, everything wants to kill you - and the longer your run goes on, the higher the likelihood that you succumb.

Tourist Traps burst from the ground in quick succession, and vanta-black Gloomy Pockets patrol with silent menace. The Abductor returns as the Highwayman, a bad-tempered variant that flings my poor car about with impunity. Still, the anomaly that gives me the most pause is the Hooligan, a hulking new variant of the Tourist that operates on the same principles as Doctor Who's Weeping Angels. At first, they seem benign, even benevolent, proffering a box of goodies that bestow cosmetics and supplies - but turn your back on one, and they'll give you a swift kick up the backside. It's the perfect blend of horror and the wry humor of the base game.

The horror doesn't just manifest on the other side of the windscreen. Where the radio would occasionally play host to mysterious voices calling across the contorted space-time of the Olympic Exclusion Zone in a regular run, Whispers in the Woods harnesses it as a full-fledged horror trope. Instead of a peppy commercial for Big Dan's gas station or a cooking show segment, the airwaves are taken up by the sinister, Ghostface-like tones of a cult leader. In one memorable run, a frenzied flight through the woods is accompanied by a droning recital of the Book of Revelations. Even Pacific Drive's beloved soundtrack is drenched in static, its vocals twisted by sound distortion until they're rendered inhuman, almost possessed.

Still, where modern horror games often prefer to leave you at the mercy of the malevolence that haunts you, Whispers in the Woods deigns to give you a fighting chance. The Whispering Tide can be held at bay with enough synergy, which involves scavenging (and eventually crafting) attuned car parts. It seems straightforward enough in theory, but it wouldn't be Pacific Drive without a little enticement that pits your safety against abject greed. In Whispers in the Woods, this comes in the form of artifacts.

Artifacts lean into the very same roguelike game design that inspired Pacific Drive's circular runs. Unlike quirks, which manifest at random - and often amount to minor annoyances like a door opening whenever you put the gear stick in park - artifacts can provide tangible benefits. There's even a touch of rudimentary buildcraft, provided the stars align. One artifact causes my car to honk whenever an anomaly grabs it, which triggers another artifact that forces those same anomalies to let go. It's a clever little feedback loop that protects me against all manner of anomalies that can't keep their hands to themselves.

That brings me to my favorite aspect of Whispers in the Woods. It would've been so easy for Ironwood to draw up a fresh laundry list of quest items, throw in a few new anomalies, slap on a red filter, and call it a day. Instead, Ironwood takes its first story DLC as an opportunity to reexamine the behaviors of its anomalies to create new scenarios. This manifests as rites, effectively 'boss' missions that apply modifiers that plumb new depths of challenge. The Rite of Community, for example, causes the Whispering Tide to continuously rise until an anomaly grabs hold, at which point it temporarily retreats. Bad news for my horn-honking artifact meta.

Like Pacific Drive's ever-present station wagon, Whispers in the Woods arrives a little rough around the mechanical edges. The Harmonic Energy system is unintuitive for what amounts to robbing Peter to pay Paul. The Resonator might look like a rocket launcher reimagined by a pagan cult, but it's really just a glorified portable charger. Between runs, I traipse between the altar and my car, charging my Resonator to charge my Attuned Capacitor to charge something else. The days of flipping a switch for an instant battery refresh would seem far behind me if I weren't also still doing that in my between-run maintenance, too.

I'm not one for instant gratification, especially in a survival game as tactile as Pacific Drive. The time it takes to fill my gas tank, replace headlights, or slap repair putty on mangled body panels is an intrinsic part of the experience, and one I absolutely relish. The difference here is that the Harmonic Energy has no basis in reality. There is no mechanical need for this process to be as arduous as it is, and therefore, it comes across as complicated for the sake of it. When stripped of its facade, so much of Pacific Drive's systems entail siphoning energy between car parts and objects, but it never felt as tedious as it does here.

It's a difficult balance to strike. Pacific Drive's conceit invites the cycle of mystery, experimentation, and discovery - but make that mystery too obtuse, and it becomes an exercise in frustration. Wrapping my head around the Harmonic Energy tutorials took me right back to Pacific Drive's own tutorial, which caught some flak for its information overload. Still, Whispers in the Woods brings challenge and mystery to an experience where both are integral and yet have long been exhausted.

It's also worth mentioning the treasure trove of patches, updates, and hotfixes Ironwood Studios has implemented in the 600-odd days since launch. Annoyed that you couldn't save and quit mid-run? Now you can. Wish there were more gameplay presets? There are seven now. Ironwood's post-release support for Pacific Drive is impressive enough that it's worth taking it for another spin for that reason alone. Whispers in the Woods is the perfect destination.