Estimated reading time — 11 minutes

There are days I wish I had done something to save Jeremy Tillman. It’s been twenty years, and it all started with the beta for Hushlands.

Jeremy Tillman was one year senior, and we used to collaborate frequently, both of us being game designers. Actually, my career began with him, as he was the first person to approach me—back in high school—to help him create graphics and help with sound effects for his small independent game. This was back in the 90s, when shareware titles littered the PC gaming landscape, so it was quite a shock to both of us when a bigger game company signed us up for their newest title in the works: “Gorgon 3D.”

A simple Doom clone running on an inferior engine—nothing special, but thanks to Jeremy’s eye for coding smooth and satisfying controls and my artistic sensibilities, the game became quite an unexpected small success. The company itself never put much faith into the project, but after it proved to be of a much higher quality upon release than expected, they offered us more work.

After a few years, we were making better and bigger games—our team rising in its number of members with every successive title. When the early 2000s hit, we were on top of the world, getting ready to work on the biggest project yet:
Hushlands.

It was a grand CRPG affair set in a surreal fantasy world mixing your usual Tolkien-inspired tropes with my own “original” ideas (that I’ve unashamedly borrowed from esoteric and lesser-known foreign literature that I was consuming huge amounts of back then). The titular Hushlands would need many artists and coders to bring to life, so we’ve set out on a mission to find the best of the best. After assembling a team that would make Id Software in their prime look like a bunch of amateurs, we began to work on the game proper.

Hushlands was taking its time, but the publisher was happy as long as the work progressed forward. After three years of development, we’ve finally completed the first beta version—which was about 70% of the final intended release. Back then, advertising was everything, so the publisher insisted on creating as much hype around the game as possible. Jeremy protested, however, and made sure that no news, or even rumors of the game’s production, would leak out—much to the annoyance of our publisher.

He insisted on keeping the project as secret as possible. No one, not even I, knew why he seemed so paranoid about this. After all, isn’t this sort of sneak-peeking a good thing for a game? But he remained unmoved by the publisher’s demands and our suggestions. He grew more and more eccentric and started becoming a different person altogether. To me, this transformation was particularly uncanny, as I knew him for such a long time—the cheerful Jeremy became gradually replaced with a much moodier and grimmer workaholic. He would sleep in his chair in front of the computer—which he never turned off—and became basically buried in tasks the nature or use of which he would never disclose to us.

“Bug fixes and engine adjustments.” – That’s all he would ever say to us.

He started to write endless notes to himself at all times, as if his memory started to fail him more and more—his desk becoming covered in square sticky notes, some even layered on top of each other. One day – while I made him coffee – I noticed one particular note that read, “Hurry up!”

Eventually, after a particularly heated phone argument with the publisher, he approached me with a strange glimmer in his eyes, which I took as a sign that he had a brand new idea for something.

“Tell you what…” he started, his voice raspy and shaky. “I’ll… I-I’ll implement s-something that will make these idiots shut up in t-two weeks at the beta version showcase they d-d-demanded so damn much!”

“Jeremy, relax!” I tried to calm him down, as his now-coffee-addicted body shook visibly when he said that sentence. “You are working way too hard on this game; just take a small vacation for a week or so! Me and the guys will complete th-”

“In two weeks!!!” he snarled at me with a ferocity I’d never expect from any of my friends. “You will see,” he added as he closed the door.

For the entire two weeks, he worked entirely confined to his desk, leaving it only to use the toilet. He became so fixed on implementing whatever he deemed so important that nobody could even manage to begin to talk to him. All everyone got back from him was a wave of a hand and a quiet snarl.

The day before that beta showcase, he finally approached me and the team, saying:
“Well! All is ready! These suckers will be blown out of their goddamn socks once they see what I’ve cooked up!”

In his hand, he proudly held the disc with “Hushlands Beta 2.1” written on it. We didn’t even question him at that point; we all knew that he was a very talented programmer—definitely the most talented member of our company—but something about this didn’t seem right at all. Worrying that he might’ve actually gone insane because he took on so much work, I discreetly decided to take the disc to my place and see what this new beta version looked like on my own. I suspected that whatever Jeremy had added might’ve been too “out there” to be shown tomorrow, as he used to tell me in private that his biggest dream would be to create a game that would shock people more than any other. He laughed at games like Harvester—notorious for its violence and dark themes—saying that if he had the time and opportunity, he would “make Harvester look like an educational game for toddlers in comparison.”

Having that in mind, I suspected his worsening mental state could make him put some edgy, graphic, or even sexual stuff into the game without my knowledge—thus jeopardizing our beta presentation, which would lead to the game losing its publisher—and that would be a big blow to our team.

While driving back to my home—which was near our office—I glanced at the CD sitting in its case. I was more and more curious as to what I would see once I booted it up on my computer. As I closed the front door behind me and fired up the PC, I sighed, remembering all our previous projects. Gorgon 3D and its crude title screen drawn by me on my own Amiga 500 flashed before my eyes—the memory of quieter and more humble times. I shook my head, regaining composure, and put the disc into the tray. The folder with the game popped up—HSHLNDS_B_2.1.EXE staring right back at me from my monitor. Besides the usual game files and some leftover concept art for reference, there was also a text file. Boldly titled “!!!READMEEEEEE.txt”.

I opened it without much thought. “Probably a list of to-do stuff from Jeremy.” I thought. But I was not ready for what I’ve stumbled upon. The text file was massive—at least 10,000 words long. As I read it, much to my shock, it turned out to be Jeremy’s manifesto of sorts. He described his career leading up to Hushlands and his collaboration with me. He described me as a “good, but sentimental friend.” I didn’t know whether this was a compliment or not, but I read further.

“Hushlands is the opportunity that I’ve waited for. The technological progress of the past few years provided me with the ability to finally create something that I was dreaming of creating since my teens. I am proud of the work I did on this game. I’m sure anyone who plays the game will feel a new kind of emotion. Not fear nor excitement—something beyond that.”

His ramblings became angrier as the text evolved into downright schizophrenic ramblings near the end. All the while, it seemed to me that he took the entire credit for the game—this made me feel angry and annoyed at him. I decided to confront him with this tomorrow before our presentation. I couldn’t let him get away with disrespecting me and the other members of our team.

“We’ve all worked our asses off, and that’s how he behaves now?” I mumbled to myself as I closed the text out of anger.

I took a sip of beer and opened the .EXE file, bracing myself for whatever awaited me.
The title screen, along with the theme song, played as planned—the detailed Hushlands logo appeared along with the main menu. Instead of the “New Game” option, there was “PRESENTATION START” written in a standard system font.

“He didn’t even change the font?” I sighed. “Jeremy, what the hell did you do during these two weeks?”

I clicked the presentation option and waited as the game loaded. The black screen featured only the main character of the game—an elf protagonist named Sylva. His animation, voice acting, and other essential elements were fully completed, but for some inexplicable reason, Jeremy replaced his voice. Gone was the professional voice work we focused so much on—he now sounded like a mess of low-quality stock voices jumbled together.

“Fucking hell!” I angrily sneered. “How the fuck does he expect this to impress our publisher?”

I was just about to call Jeremy, demanding him to explain this mess, when the character started moving on its own. I watched as Sylva walked about in the total darkness until a green glow appeared. This turned out to be a portal that transported him into the Prilma Dungeon—one of the locations we’ve planned to create but decided to cut out of the project due to its huge size. But here I saw a finished, high-quality location filled with detail, careful texturing, and magnificent lighting effects!

“Oh my God.” I whispered. “Jeremy, did you do this all by yourself?”

Sylva was now standing still. I started to control him to explore the dungeon. I was floored, as this looked at least ten times better than anything we’d created up to that point. Hell, not even the biggest AAA games of that year could compare. If this was shown to the publisher, they would truly be amazed! But, that strange voice replacement. Why?

As I started wondering about this bizarre decision, Sylva spoke. I recognized the line from one of the hundreds of stock voice & FX CDs we would use. It was your usual “old wizard” voice.

“It seems my spell worked well!”

I puzzled over the meaning of this. What spell?

As I moved Sylva across the dungeon, I marveled further at Jeremy’s achievement. Along the way, some enemies appeared, but Sylva took them out no problem. The animations and combat worked perfectly, so I started to relax a little. Aside from the missing voice, we didn’t have to worry about disappointing the publisher! I leaned back in my chair and took a sip of beer. I grabbed my phone and wanted to call Jeremy, but then I thought of how angry he would be with me if he found out that I’d sneaked the CD out of our studio. Also, I started to remember the bizarre manifesto of his and wondered what its true meaning was.

I then realized how impossible it was for one man to do all this work by himself and in just two weeks. There was just no way he could do it without at least a dozen other artists and coders working 24/7, and even then I’m not sure if the result would be so… polished? Spectacular? There really was no way to describe it. That’s when I started to feel fear—fear of something being fundamentally wrong. I finally understood its source—I was staring at something that had no right to exist. The level kept on going, showing no sign of any bugs or any deficiency—it was just too perfect to be a single human’s creation.

That’s when my phone rang. It made me jump, as my entire focus was on the game. I answered it, expecting to hear from Jeremy. Sure enough, it was him—his calm voice sent shivers down my spine.

“So? How’d you like it?”

I couldn’t speak—my jaw hung from its hinges from shock as my eyes darted around my room, the feeling of being watched just too strong to ignore.

“J-Jeremy?” I struggled to respond. “How… How do you-”

“It’s simple,” he responded—again, the unnatural calm in his voice petrifying me. “When involving yourself in something so important, a single human can do wonders. Especially when he’s got help.”

“From whom?” I asked, my face wet from cold sweat.

He laughed a cold and ruthless chuckle that might as well have come from the devil himself.
“Oh, you know,” he responded as I struggled to regain composure, grabbing the can of beer I’d been drinking from in the process.

“Ooh… Told ‘ya before that beer does not help with artistic endeavors, didn’t I?”

The can fell to the ground as I froze in place, Jeremy Tillman’s laugh still ringing in my ears.
“H-how do you…?” I choked out an answer.

I quickly rose from my seat, ran up to the window, and looked outside—hoping that this was just a cruel prank to get back at me for snatching the beta CD.

“No, no, no!” he chuckled. “I ain’t there!”

I started frantically searching through my closets, other rooms of the home, and even under the tables—sure enough, I was all alone with no way of anyone knowing what I was doing.
“Don’t bother looking under the bed. You are a big boy and don’t believe in monsters, right?” he laughed mockingly.

Jeremy mockingly commented on my every move. Finally, I grabbed a book from my shelf and opened it on a random page.

“Ooh! Grave’s “Greek Myths”! The Argo’s journey was my personal favorite!”

I looked at my copy of Robert Graves’s Greek Myths, opened to the chapter discussing the myth of the Argonauts and their quest for the golden fleece.

“I still remember how we would look through this book for inspiration when creating Gorgon 3D. Good times, huh?”

I screamed and threw the book away. Jeremy’s voice being too much to bear, I turned off the phone and returned to my desk, only to find a horrific picture displayed on my PC monitor. It was a close-up of Sylva’s face—pixelated and mangled. His eyes were nowhere to be seen—replaced by deep, dark, gaping holes. I tried to close the game, but the entire PC froze on that image, the GPU and hard drive making as much noise as possible. Speakers were filled with static as I moved the mouse and worked the keyboard to no use. Having no other way to get rid of this nightmare, I grabbed the power cable and yanked it out of the socket, putting an end to this nightmare.

My ride back to the office was frantic and dangerous, my head reverberating with thoughts that defied rationality. I opened the door and entered the dimly-lit office at 1 AM, expecting to see no one. But Jeremy waited for me. Sitting in his chair – as always in front of his computer—dead, with an empty, emotionless expression on his pale and cold face. I cried as my shaky hands called for an ambulance, but it was too late. They declared him deceased on the spot. Cause of death? Nobody could figure that out. Police investigated but found no traces of foul play. It wasn’t a suicide—that was their only certainty.

His PC was on when I found him—the screen displaying the game’s unfinished code. The sound of the computer’s cooling fans and the hard drive reminded me of human breathing – no one else noticed it as I turned the PC off, before giving it over to the authorities for forensic analysis. They found nothing that they could tie to his death and closed the case soon after, deciding that Jeremy died from “work exhaustion.”

Hushlands wasn’t canceled. The project was renamed with a different title that came out to much critical reception and big sales. I don’t want to tell you what the title of that game is. All I can say is that it’s a CRPG with a top-down perspective. I, and the rest of the team, had to work over Jeremy’s work—a strange mix of guilt and fear that I do not wish upon anyone. The knowledge that some of Jeremy’s assets that materialized during those two weeks remained in the final product haunts me to this day.

It was decided that Jeremy Tillman’s name was to be removed from the credits.

Back to that manifesto and beta disc. Once I made sure that my PC was working fine after rebooting, I ejected it, broke the goddamn thing in half, and threw it away. Anticlimactic, I know. Before doing that, however, I backed up the text file—if there were any answers to this entire madness, I was sure to find them there. I mustered up the courage to read Jeremy’s manifesto in detail, finding strange names, chaos magick and Neoplatonism. The name of Engelbrecht of Bonn came up quite a bit in the latter sections. I did some digging later and found this description of him and his teachings:

From “The Early Magicians of the Renaissance” (1872) by Dr. Klemens Ignacy Górski—chapter 12, pgs. 120-121:

“Meister Engelbrecht von Bonn was known to be one especially talented magician that utilized the teachings of Cornellius Agrippa and other contemporary theoreticians to much practical success – invoking, among many others, angels, demons, lesser deities of various celestial bodies, guardian spirits of towns, deities of elementa principalia, and the artes liberales. In one particular case, he succeeded in creating a dazzling fresco at the town hall of Kalisz, Poland. What would’ve taken a dozen artisans to complete in a month, he managed to execute in a mere week, much to the town authorities’ and local clergy’s astonishment. Also, around that time, he surprised Barnim XI, the Duke of Pomerania, by painting on canvas an uncanny face in such a convincing way that, upon observing it closely, one would swear that its eyes could follow their movements. Some claimed, that the face’s eyes would even turn into deep, dark wells at Engelbrecht’s will, much to the terror of spectators.”

Credit: emilos260