As someone who self-identifies as (and gets paid to be) an oftentimes colossal nerd, I’m ashamed to admit that I’m only just now getting into Neil Gaiman. I’ve been ploughing through Sandman, and I just finished American Gods the other day. It’s all been marvelous, and I absolutely despise myself for not starting sooner. But late-bloomer Gaiman binges do have their advantages. For instance, maximized excitement over the Man Who Desperately Wishes He Had My Hair’s first foray into the world of digitized amusement laser rainbows – sometimes referred to colloquially as “videogames”. It’s called Wayward Manor, and it sees you play as a grumpy ghost who must frighten away a “remarkable” band of intruders while maybe – just maybe – learning a little something about himself in the process. Or, well, his death, anyway.
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