The Last Gaslight

New Year's Eve, 1899. Sir Edmund Thornecliff — the magnate whose gaslights lit half of England — is throwing a Century Ball. At midnight he will retire the gaslight era he built and switch his great house to electricity. The new lights flare... and fail. Ninety seconds of absolute dark. When the gas is relit, Sir Edmund lies dead in the winter garden, his new will missing from his pocket and his signet ring gone from his hand. The storm has cut the telephone line. The tide has flooded the road. No one leaves until morning — and one of the guests is a murderer. THE INVESTIGATION IS TONIGHT. FIVE INVESTIGATORS, ONE TRUTH Play as the retired Scotland Yard inspector, the undercover journalist, the estranged heir, the lady's maid, or the family physician. Each sees what the others cannot. Every run is a complete, solvable mystery — the full picture is earned across them. YOUR CHOICES CARRY Every chapter holds decisions the house visibly remembers. Where were you when the lights were interrupted? Whom do you trust? What do you do with the will that arrives under YOUR door? The ending isn't picked from a menu — it is assembled from everything you choose. SIX ENDINGS Catch the whole truth, half of it, or none of it. Convict the right man — or the wrong one, if your exhibits technically hold. The game never blocks your progress. It remembers, and at dawn it pays out exactly what your investigation earned. A BEAUTIFUL, SILENT HOUSE Hand-crafted period artwork in warm gaslight and cold early-electric light, with living scenes that flicker and shift as you move your phone. A story told in letterpress and lamplight. FAIR TO PLAYERS • Chapters 1 and 2 are free — a full evening of story • Chapters 3, 4, and 5 are $0.99 each, once, forever • No ads. No accounts. No data collected — your investigation stays on your device • Play fully offline • VoiceOver supported; timed choices have an untimed accessibility mode The tide turns at dawn. What will be true of this night must become true before the first cart reaches the constable — or it never will be.