Played this straight through last night. I didn't get the sense that the supernatural elements were a commentary on game design, exactly. But then again, I didn't notice the obvious connection in the letter from Terrence's father, and I hadn't read any reviews until today, so I think you're on to something. Though I don't think we're supposed to believe Terrence's father is right; if you look at that letter as meta commentary, I think it's more aimed at people who think addressing LGBT issues within a pulp medium like video games is a bad idea. The main thing is I didn't find it distracting (and it sounds like you didn't either until after you've played it). What I found distracting was the way Sam's voiceovers got really treacley towards the end; I would have liked to piece together more of her story myself.

I didn't find the lack of a ghost unsatisfying; you're sort of in the position Sam & Lonnie were, right? You don't really believe in that stuff but it sure is creepy and fun wandering around this house late at night. By about halfway through I was immersed enough in 1995 to not be expecting the supernatural--although that séance table as a final misdirect, that could have been earlier. I didn't feel tricked though, just a little bit of that childhood disappointment when you first say Bloody Mary in front of the mirror and nothing happens. (Imagine how the game would feel if you went up to the attic and DID find Oscar, or Sam possessed by Oscar, and had to fight him because the house was EVIL: are you really going to say you wouldn't have written a blog post about how the game fell apart at the end? On the other hand, imagine if six months from now someone discovers clues that players have missed so far, leading to another wing of the house with Uncle Oscar's ghost, where the game's "real ending" takes place--I'd be on board with that.)

The game's power doesn't depend on being able to personally identify with the characters or situation, I don't think -- I mean I remembered and appreciated all the period details, because I was the right age, but that's about it. It would have worked equally well in a different time period. I mean, anyone can identify with well-written characters, that's what makes them well-written. (By the way, someone should tell Chris Suellentrop that Bratmobile and Heavens to Betsy were local bands for those characters, and the odds that they'd like "Jagged Little Pill" are approximately zero; did a spittake reading that.)

I'm interested in what you say about agency--I didn't really think about it while I was playing, but you're right, Katie doesn't make any decisions that affect anything at all during the game. I'm not sure that's a problem--I find solving mysteries to be one of the most satisfying things games can do, and this one was a lot of fun (Of course, Katie would have known a lot of her family's history already, but that's a whole other issue.) Since they made the decision to spell out the Sam/Lonnie thing, I'm glad the parent's stories were a little less obvious. I was entirely cool with Katie being a nearly blank slate, and I thought having all her stuff still in boxes was a pretty good way to do that. Which is weird because until last night I would have said that the most interesting tension in games was the gap between what I would like to do as the player and what the character would or could do in that situation, and that was entirely missing here. I mean it's basically a room escape game, and there aren't that many narrative ways to justify having the player's character almost entirely absent from the game--amnesia!--so I think this may have been a one-off.

Personal favorite details: the sex-ed assignment, the stolen VCRs and laserdisc/CD player, the attention to the handwriting styles each character would have learned (that's a pet peeve of mine in period games; L.A. Noire in particular was terrible about this), and the stuff with Daniel.

Least favorite details: the fact that a lot of other stuff still hadn't been unpacked, that very curved sideboard that I guess Oscar bought in bulk, since he had twenty of them all over the house.

As an aside, I thought the neighborhood kids were calling it the Psycho house, not the psycho house, because of the gables and the recluse owner--so I wasn't expecting there'd been a murder there or anything. The most off character note in the entire thing was Terrence moving his family there; I would imagine he wouldn't ever want to see the place again. Did I miss some explanation for this? (And even if he wanted to move there, would his wife let him? Though I guess she doesn't know his history, or she'd know why he got withdrawn and depressed once they moved.) Anyway, I can't think of another game where there was anything approaching an interesting family dynamic, so that's a win right there.

Also, what was inside the Gentlemen magazines? I found the one under the remaindered books, and the one in Sam's locker, but there must have been a leap of logic I missed there, because I didn't go looking for them and don't remember finding anything in or under them. Incidentally, I think Sam bought or got her own, because her father's was from the 1980s and stashed away, hers was recent. I didn't find the ticket stub in the screenshot you used, oddly, and I'm sure there were other things I missed or didn't look at closely enough to piece together. (who did the cross belong to? Were those Oscar's or Terrence's father's ashes? When was the painting defaced? Is it "Terrence" or "Terence?")

Anyway: I thought it was great and I'd love to see more games that assumed players had the ability to piece things together themselves.