Some games let you pretty much guess what you are getting from the title. THE BATHROOMS is not one of them. You might expect a few haunted toilets, perhaps a sinister public lavatory and maybe the occasional unpleasant surprise behind a cubicle door, but this wonderfully strange slice of horror has considerably more on its mind. Somewhere between Backrooms-inspired nightmare fuel, survival horror, absurd comedy and the world’s most stressful treasure hunt, THE BATHROOMS creates a bizarre little nightmare that is every bit as ridiculous as it is unsettling.
The premise is wonderfully simple. You are heading to work at the local high school when something goes horribly wrong, leaving you waking up in fog, the school completely deserted, and, more importantly, your beloved Shiba Inu nowhere to be found. Apparently, a Halloween ritual performed by one particularly adventurous student has opened the door to somewhere that definitely should not exist. Unfortunately, your dog has been dragged into this strange world too, meaning that getting home is no longer your only concern.
Welcome To The Bathrooms
THE BATHROOMS wastes little time throwing you into its strange world. What begins as an ordinary morning quickly becomes an eerie exploration through an endless maze of tiled corridors, toilet stalls and unsettling spaces that seem to stretch far beyond what any normal school bathroom could contain. There is an immediate sense that something is fundamentally wrong with the place, but the game cleverly balances that unease with enough absurdity to stop the atmosphere from becoming relentlessly miserable.
That balance is one of THE BATHROOMS’ greatest strengths. You can be creeping cautiously through a dark corridor one minute, listening for the telltale signs that something horrible is nearby, only to realise you are essentially rummaging around a gigantic supernatural toilet looking for loose change. It should not work as well as it does, yet somehow the absurdity makes the horror even more memorable. The game knows exactly how silly its premise is and embraces it rather than pretending it is delivering straight-faced psychological horror.
There is also something strangely familiar about the setting. We’ve all experienced those slightly grim public bathrooms where the tiles seem to have witnessed things no human should ever have to endure, but THE BATHROOMS takes that idea and pushes it into nightmare territory. The result is a world that feels both recognisable and completely alien.
No Coins, No Exit
The central objective is wonderfully cruel. You need coins to buy an exit ticket, and they are scattered throughout the labyrinth. That turns your freedom into a giant supernatural vending machine, and the only currency that matters is whatever loose change you can find while trying not to get murdered.
This creates a surprisingly effective gameplay loop. You explore, search, collect coins, avoid danger, and desperately try to remember which corridors you have already visited. Because the labyrinth is never exactly the same twice, you cannot simply memorise a route and sprint towards the exit. Every attempt can feel slightly different, and that procedural approach gives exploration a welcome sense of uncertainty.
The coins also create an interesting risk-and-reward system. Do you keep exploring because you are still short of what you need, knowing that every additional corridor increases the chance of encountering something nasty? Or do you play it safe and head towards what you think might be the exit? The game constantly puts that decision in your hands, and when you are carrying enough coins to escape, suddenly every strange noise becomes considerably more frightening.
Your Trusty Vacuum
Of all the things I expected to use in a survival horror game, a vacuum cleaner was nowhere near the top of the list. Yet here we are. Your vacuum is effectively your lifeline, letting you suck up those precious coins scattered around the bathrooms. It is an amusingly mundane tool in such a nightmarish environment, but it becomes an important part of your survival strategy. You constantly balance exploration with efficiency, and upgrading the vacuum at the shop can make collecting everything considerably easier.
There is something inherently funny about sneaking around a supernatural bathroom while worrying about your vacuum’s performance. Most horror protagonists get shotguns, torches or some ancient mystical weapon. You get a hoover. It is brilliant.
The upgrade system also gives the otherwise simple coin-collecting mechanic more depth. Improving your equipment lets you gather resources more effectively, which in turn helps you progress further. It gives you another reason to keep searching rather than simply rushing through the maze.
Copium, Orbs And Clown Guns
THE BATHROOMS clearly decided that conventional survival-horror mechanics were far too sensible. Alongside your vacuum, you can inhale copium to increase the value of your coins, ponder an orb to locate keys and check for danger, and even defend yourself with a clown gun.
Yes, a clown gun. This is where the game really establishes its identity. Rather than taking itself seriously, THE BATHROOMS throws increasingly ridiculous ideas into its horror framework and somehow makes them feel like legitimate gameplay mechanics. The clown gun is particularly entertaining because the ability to fight back changes how you approach encounters, but it does not necessarily make you feel safe.
There is also a deliciously dangerous gambling element thanks to slot machines. You can risk the coins you have worked so hard to collect in the hope of getting something useful, or you can simply decide that gambling your only route home in a haunted bathroom dimension is probably not the smartest idea you have ever had. Naturally, the temptation is always there.
The Custodian Is Watching
Then there is The Custodian. Every horror game needs something that makes you question whether you are actually safe, and The Custodian fills that role rather nicely. Nobody really knows where he came from, but this is his realm and, apparently, his rules. Worse still, he learns and adapts, so relying on the same tricks every time is not necessarily going to keep you alive.
When The Custodian spots you, hiding in a toilet stall can be your best option. There is something wonderfully appropriate about a terrifying supernatural entity hunting you through an endless bathroom while your survival strategy involves hiding behind a cubicle door.
The encounters work because they create genuine tension beneath all the silliness. You might be laughing at the absurdity of the situation one moment, but once you realise The Custodian is nearby, the humour quickly gives way to nervous silence. Suddenly you are listening carefully, trying to work out whether it is safe to leave your hiding place. That contrast between comedy and genuine tension is one of the game’s cleverest tricks.
Where Is My Dog?
Despite the jokes and ridiculous mechanics, there is a surprisingly straightforward emotional motivation beneath it all. Your Shiba Inu has been captured and locked in a cage somewhere in this bizarre labyrinth, and finding the keys means putting yourself in even greater danger.
It is a wonderfully simple motivation because everyone understands the instinct to rescue a beloved pet. You might be perfectly happy to abandon this nightmare dimension and never look back, but the knowledge that your dog is still trapped somewhere makes you reconsider. Do you take the safe route and focus on getting yourself out, or do you keep searching for the keys and risk losing everything?
That choice adds an extra layer of tension to the exploration. Coins are important because they represent your escape, but the keys represent something much more personal. It is a silly horror game with a clown gun and a vacuum cleaner, yet somehow it still manages to make you care about the little Shiba waiting somewhere in the darkness.
A Maze Designed To Mess With You
The procedural nature of the bathrooms is another important part of the experience. Every run can change, making navigation far less predictable than simply learning a fixed map. It encourages exploration but also makes getting lost incredibly easy, particularly when corridors and rooms start blending together.
That can be both a strength and a weakness. The uncertainty makes each run feel fresh and keeps you from relying entirely on memory, but there will be moments when you have absolutely no idea where you are or where you are supposed to be going. Some players will love that sense of disorientation, while others may find the occasional difficulty spike frustrating.
Personally, I think the confusion suits the concept. This place is supposed to feel wrong. It is supposed to make you question where you have been and whether the corridor ahead is actually taking you anywhere useful. Getting lost is part of the experience, even if there are times when you will probably find yourself muttering things at the screen that would never make it past the Steam moderation team.
Horror With A Sense Of Humour
What really separates THE BATHROOMS from many indie horror games is its personality. There is a clear affection for the internet’s Backrooms mythology here, but the developers have taken that concept and given it a wonderfully stupid twist. Instead of simply recreating the familiar endless-corridor formula, the game builds its own identity around bathrooms, coins, vacuum cleaners, gambling, mysterious orbs and an increasingly threatening custodian.
That humour does not undermine the horror either. In fact, it often makes the frightening moments more effective because you never quite know what tone the next encounter will take. The game can make you laugh at something utterly ridiculous before putting you in a situation where you are genuinely desperate to avoid being seen.
It is an unusual combination, but THE BATHROOMS wears that weirdness proudly. It knows that horror does not always need to be miserable, and sometimes the most memorable nightmares are the ones that make you laugh before making you scream.
Final Verdict
THE BATHROOMS is gloriously strange, occasionally stressful, and considerably more entertaining than its premise has any right to be. The procedural maze keeps exploration unpredictable, the coin-collecting gives every journey a clear purpose, and the addition of equipment upgrades, copium, orbs, gambling, and the wonderfully ridiculous clown gun ensures that there is always something slightly unexpected around the next corner.
The Custodian provides the genuine horror, while the missing Shiba gives the adventure an emotional reason to continue beyond simply finding the exit. That combination works surprisingly well, creating a game that can switch from ridiculous comedy to genuine tension without losing its identity. There are some difficulty spikes, and the maze can occasionally become frustrating when you are hopelessly lost, but those issues are balanced by the sheer personality running through the whole experience.
Most importantly, THE BATHROOMS is memorable. You are unlikely to finish playing and simply shrug before moving on to the next horror game. You will probably remember the vacuum, the coins, the clown gun, the bizarre gambling opportunities, and that unnerving feeling of being hunted through an endless maze of bathroom tiles. And, of course, you will remember the Shiba.
