When I found Digging a Hole, I couldn't help but think—who would actually play a game that's just about digging?
It felt almost too easy, honestly a little laughable. But the more I looked into it, the more intrigued I became.
Maybe there was something more to it. Perhaps once I started playing, I'd find some deeper meaning behind all this virtual excavation. But then… I played it.
And I ended up doing exactly what the title promised: digging a hole.
It started as a tiny indie project that had somehow turned into one of the weirdest internet gaming sensations of 2025. Digging a Hole was created by a solo developer, Ben, in his spare time.
At first glance, Digging a Hole seemed like just another quirky sandbox game with resource management. But there was something mysterious about it.
The promotional materials were vague, the Steam page description was cryptic, and early players started hinting that there was something more beneath the surface.
Some called it a satire of capitalism, where you endlessly dig and grind for something that may not even exist. Others thought it was a slow-burn horror game disguised as a casual mining simulator.
The only way to know for sure? Dig.
At first, it felt simple. A tiny patch of grass, an 'X' marking the spot, and my trusty shovel. The first few digs were satisfying enough—chunks of dirt disappearing with each click, little stone bits piling up in my inventory.
Then came the realization: everything was tied to upgrades. A better shovel, bigger inventory, jetpacks, and a battery that somehow dictated my ability to keep digging. It had an odd pull. The loop of digging, selling ores, and upgrading tools became hypnotic.
The deeper I went, the better the resources: coal, iron, copper, silver. I got a little more excited with each new thing I uncovered. Would gold be next? Diamonds? A buried treasure chest holding something life-changing?
The game had me hooked, but it didn't take long for me to figure out that the real challenge wasn't the depth. It was managing resources. The battery ran out faster the further I dug. My backpack always seemed too small. Every upgrade felt important but more like something I had to do, not something I wanted to do.
I thought I had it down, but then it got a whole lot darker. Literally. The deeper the hole, the less I could see. I needed lamps to light the way, but placing them meant permanently using up valuable resources. There was no turning back. I had to commit. The mines were calling, and I had no choice but to answer.
Somewhere around 50 meters down, I found something I didn't expect: a cave system. That was my first sign that Digging a Hole was more than just a sandbox time-waster. This wasn't just my hole anymore. Something else had been digging here before me. It was weird. The once-simple gameplay had turned into an exploration of the unknown.
The tunnels stretched out in odd, confusing ways, turning in directions that made no sense to me. But then, I stumbled upon something even more unsettling. I was like, "That's a weird rock," until it started moving. Then another one appeared. And another. They were watching me. I tried to run. My jetpack sputtered. The battery drained faster in the cave. The creatures—mole-like horrors—weren't just sitting there. They chased me. I wasn't ready for a survival horror twist in a game that started with casually shoveling dirt. My shovel was useless.
The only option was to sneak past them, using whatever tunnels I could find to avoid their sight. And yet, despite the terror, I couldn't stop. There had to be a reason for all of this. After what felt like an eternity of hiding, digging, and upgrading, I finally found it. A treasure chest. This was it. The reward for all my struggles. The reason I had spent hours digging. The thing that made it all worth it. I opened it. It was empty.
I had dug myself into something I never truly understood. What started as a casual game about excavation had turned into an existential crisis. I had spent all this time digging, chasing something that wasn't even there. And in the end, the moles ("the real landlords") had simply let me dig my own grave.
Digging a Hole wasn't just a game. It was a scam. It's a cruel trick disguised as a fun little mining simulator. I had been had. But despite everything, I wasn't mad. Because you know what? I still wanted to dig deeper. It was a game about getting lost in the process, about doing something simply because you could.
They made a game that looked like a joke, like something only a fool would fall for. And I thought I was better than that.
I thought I was too smart to waste my time shoveling virtual dirt for hours.
But they were right. I am exactly the proof that free will is a myth.