Games made with RPGmaker have a strange reputation. The game engine is known for producing a mix of basic clunky demakes of classic RPGs and cult horror hits like "Dream Diary," "Lisa: The Painful," "Mad Father," and "The Witch's House."

The RPGmaker scene has been in decline over the years, which is why "Omori" feels almost like a ghost of a bygone era. The game's blocky visuals make it seem like a blast from the past, but this psychological RPG has all the qualities to become a modern cult classic.

"Omori" follows the antics of a group of children on summer vacation, but instead of discovering the wonders of the real world, the group explores a fantastical dream world evoked by a sleeping boy, the "Omori" of the title. The majority of the game takes place in this dream world, where the group searches for their missing friend, but there are also parts played in reality, especially in the quiet suburban neighborhood where all the children live.

Doesn't sound like a horror game, does it? There are no scary monsters or existential dread in the colorful dream world, but that's the point. Omori is unable to control or face certain events that occur in the real world, and like a safety blanket, he evokes this fantastical headspace to escape. To avoid spoilers, I'll spare you the real world horrors, but an event that happened years ago ties the group together. Each character is unable to escape the effects of that event, and soon the horror begins to creep into Omori's dream world.

While these horror elements can be quite frightening when they rear their twisted heads, the majority of the time is spent exploring a dreamlike, fantastical world filled with jokes and puns. In this respect it is very similar to Undertale, with much of the comedy coming from the bizarre characters.

There's the super-buff planet Pluto, who loves to flex and teaches powerful combat skills. And Life Jam Guy, a play on the Kool-Aid mascot, has an enthusiasm for health items that knows no bounds. Boss characters also provide laughs, including Sweetheart, an obnoxious pop star who wields a giant heart-shaped mace and cackles like a cartoon supervillain.

Aside from the main mission of finding your missing friend, "Omori" is full of little secrets and rewards for exploring every nook and cranny of the world; even after 20 hours of play, the added side missions and mysteries still I feel like I've barely scratched the surface; some have been missed because they were hard to find with RPGMaker's visuals.

Sprites of chatty characters, objects to break, and legible notes are often lost in visual translation, looking more like background decorations than anything interactive. A friendly ghost in a corner of the library ponders out loud: "Are ghosts gases?

It is almost ludicrous to play as Omori, the indifferent and creepily silent protagonist in this vibrant world. This is where the psychological horror of this game comes from. I can really understand his attitude. If I were haunted by metaphorical ghosts and monsters, I wouldn't find anything funny either.

This goes back to the combat in the game. While Omori's ragtag group uses dodgeballs and spatulas as weapons against rabbits and sprouts, Omori's weapon of choice is a sharp, slender knife that cuts and stabs his enemies.

Aside from the children wielding deadly weapons, battles proceed like any other turn-based RPG, but with a clever twist. Combat has an "emotional system," in which a character's emotional state affects the way he or she fights. Joy, anger, sorrow, and anger are similar to rock-paper-scissors, each reinforcing the group in a different way. One character can read poetry to make the party more defensive and sad, or childishly annoy and anger other characters to make them more aggressive.

Aside from healers, it is often felt that characters rarely interact with each other in an RPG party. It is also interesting to note that when a party member dies, the avatar transforms into toast.

Battles are also the only opportunity to see characters up close. Before that they are just pixels, but in battle you get to see them in full art. Whether it's your first up-close look at a character you've known for hours or a terrifying monster, the exposure really packs a punch.

It may not feel so scary to get up close to a mass of black pixels, but in battle you suddenly see them for what they really are. They feel so up close and personal that, faced with the fear, I repeatedly resorted to the "run away" option. But in classic horror game form, the "escape" option is useless; there is no escape. The monsters are all creepy, with pouty smirks, eyes peering at you from the dark, and flailing arms clutching at your hands. The art style is also a hodgepodge. Scratched pencil drawings, realistic limbs, and strange lumps of clay all give the monsters a disturbing sense that they do not belong in Omori's world, heightening the sense of dread.

While I enjoyed the menacing encounters with the various monsters of the Omori, the horror elements enter the dark waters of mental health, and the storyline becomes a bit grim towards the end of the game. Certain decisions made at the game's climax also undermine some of the game's major storylines.

The entire time I was playing "Omori," I couldn't help but think of it as the spiritual successor to "Dream Diary." A boy sleeps to escape his troubles, and a girl sleeps to face them. Both have surrealistic images and countless secrets hidden in their respective dream spaces. In Omori, there is a part where the viewer navigates through a series of doors leading to surreal memories, a direct homage to "Dream Diary. There are plenty of classic RPG-maker horror moments, like looking into a mirror and seeing something else looking back at you.

Influences are visible, but Omori reinforces what made the mysterious Japanese RPG so iconic. It has all the scares and secrets of its predecessor, but wraps them up in a huge, overarching story with multiple worlds, tons of characters, stunning artwork, 100 songs of music, and a full-fledged RPG combat system.

It's easy to fall into the mold that everything is resolved through the "power of friendship," but thankfully, its heartbreaking moments are supported by great storytelling and truly empathetic characters. Omori was developed over the course of six years by the Omokat team (initially one person), and the team's passion is evident.

Omori is a sleeping child, afraid to face the realities and consequences of the real world. It is a childlike reaction to want to retreat into one's shell and hide, but it is one that one is tempted to carry with them into adulthood. The desire to escape into another world, away from anxiety, is universal, and Omori's reasons for trying to protect himself are understandable, if a little creepy. The important thing is to choose to take the first step outside, hopefully the first step you take many times, and Omori captures this feeling beautifully.