
Guide
The 20 best cosy games
by Cassie Mammone

Why do dark passageways and cramped caves trigger sheer panic in players like me, even though I know nothing can happen? Together with a psychologist, I get to the bottom of the question as to why gamers let themselves be tricked by good game design.
A creepy cave in a mountain, an entrance to catacombs, a staircase to a dark basement: whenever I see any of these in an open-world game, alarm bells start ringing. I don’t want to go in there. I’ll get lost while spiders, ghosts or the undead destroy my nerves. Even without scary enemies, I’ll be down there fighting the feeling of being buried alive.

I love games with wide, open game worlds. Taking on whole hordes of opponents? Not a problem for me. But as soon as a game takes me underground, I turn into a coward and get claustrophobic.
In this article, I actually wanted to rant about the fact that game designers keep spoiling my enjoyment of their games with their dumb creepy chambers. Instead of complaining, I decided to find out more about the background to these stressful situations. So I got in touch with psychologist Jessica Kathmann-Rosenthal for this article. Her research is dedicated to gaming-related topics.
For me, it started in 1998 with the unspeakable well in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. I was scared to the bone in this labyrinthine pit because of the dark atmosphere, the creepy music and the living dead lurking there. With cold hands, a barely suppressed flight reflex and growing panic, I struggled through the tomb. Even on later playthroughs, I had to be mentally prepared to tackle the well and the Shadow Temple that came after it.
It’s obvious that dungeons like these, which often spoiled my fun in Elder Scrolls games too, are deliberately designed to give players goosebumps and provoke thrills. The subject of death and the afterlife hardly makes anyone feel comfortable. Add some dark music, a few ghostly lighting effects and voilà: the cabinet of horrors is complete.
But why do I, as a shrunken mini-human, shy away from anthills in Grounded. Sure, these are underground, but they’re undead-free. And why do I only enter the deep, daylightless «Grand Canyon» of Dune: Awakening when I have no other choice? There are no supernatural beings waiting for me there, juts darkness and a labyrinthine tunnel system. Is it the fear of not finding my way out again? But my character’s virtual. Nothing can happen to me.

What do all these places have in common? What makes caves and underground spots so unpleasant? And why do game designers specifically use these effects? I ask Jessica my questions. And find out that I’m by no means alone in my aversion to the digital underground.

In contrast to the open world on the surface, underground areas are often narrow and winding. This restricts freedom of movement. Jessica points out that instinctive reactions such as running away are often made more difficult or even punished by traps or precipices. I think of the invisible pits at the bottom of the well from Ocarina of Time and nod my head sadly. I’m trapped and have to get out.

Darkness, confinement and restricted freedom of movement, sometimes combined with time pressure due to limited oxygen or a harmful environment: all of these features can be summarised under loss of direction and control. Both lead to a feeling of being at the mercy of others – «a state that almost automatically generates fear,» sums up Jessica.
When it comes to underground locations, there’s often a deeply rooted cultural association with death. For many people, the underground world symbolises graves and being buried alive. That’s far from a pleasant thought. At least for someone like me, who avoids horror games at all costs.
The subterranean’s often associated with graves and death: being buried alive.
One advantage of games is they can simulate dangerous and intense situations that no one would voluntarily put themselves through in real life. Jessica explains: «We deliberately play to be tricked: we seek immersion in another world – with all the feelings that come with it.» It allows me to encounter dangers in a safe and controlled environment.
Well-designed games put my brain on alert, even though I know rationally that nothing can happen to me. So the fact that I let myself get stressed is no coincidence, but an intended effect and ultimately a sign of successful immersion.
Good game design is emotional manipulation.
Jessica also points out another psychological mechanism that’s particularly effective in horror and action games. Players who successfully master difficult or unpleasant tasks usually experience a strong sense of elation afterwards: «The stress falls away, the reward is great: we’ve proven to ourselves (and the game) that we can do something.»
According to the psychologist, it’s important for self-confidence to expose yourself to situations where you can feel competent. In horror games, this means keeping your nerve in extreme situations and reacting correctly. I’ll admit that it feels damn good to master my character’s skills expertly and to survive even in stressful moments.
The need for competence is a basic psychological need.
I’m beginning to understand why many open-world games also feature dark caves and creepy catacombs. These games, with their expansive game worlds, cover all emotional bases. While cosy games are geared towards relaxation, and shooters or horror games deliberately deliver action and thrills, games with open worlds can often do everything at once.
If I want to relax, I chill out and fortify my base in survival games, or I gather resources. If I feel like exploring, I wander through the landscape and discover new areas. I solve puzzles, help NPCs and experience stories. And I face big bosses or venture into areas that scare me.
The «open» in «open world» means more than just the free exploration of a large world and a largely individual style of play, but also openness to a wide variety of experiences and emotions. Discomfort and stress are part of this, and enrich the mix of emotions these game worlds can offer.

Open worlds can also play particularly well with contrasts between underground corridors and wide, sunny landscapes: darkness versus light, narrowness versus vastness, loss of control versus free choice. When I emerge from a creepy cave into the light, having completed my quest and stocked up my inventory, the tension subsides and I feel a sense of relief. This contrast heightens my feeling of relief, and I appreciate the world of light even more.
Jessica emphasises that not all people are so sensitive to underground worlds. Some maintain a greater distance than others. This distance can also be artificially created, the immersion deliberately broken. She gives me a few tips on how to stop being tricked by games.
With a well-lit room, I feel less like I’m in the dark when I’m gaming. Music, the radio or TV and other people can also provide enough distraction to prevent me from feeling an eerie atmosphere. And last but not least, breaks help. This gives my adrenaline levels a chance to drop. I take my mind off things, and can plunge back into the underworld with renewed vigour.
Feels just as comfortable in front of a gaming PC as she does in a hammock in the garden. Likes the Roman Empire, container ships and science fiction books. Focuses mostly on unearthing news stories about IT and smart products.
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