(If you’re after the literary variety try The Case of the Transported Cat)
In something that looks equal parts Saw and The Crystal Maze, “escape room games” are becoming a popular attraction in Budapest:
If I’m honest I can’t make head nor tail of the drawing in front of me. It looks like a plumbing diagram.
And while it’s clear that the sequence of noises – a church bell ringing, a frog croaking, a cat mewling – are code for something, I am none the wiser.
I’m in a dimly lit cellar, furnished with creaking chairs, broken toys, and old computer monitors. The low-arched brick ceilings have been whitewashed, but there are few other concessions to civilisation.
With time pressure mounting it’s vital that my team and I piece together some kind of logic among the junk, if we want to make an escape. That’s the challenge. Identify each puzzle in the room, unravel its mystery in turn and you may get out before your allotted hour is up.
But still ringing in my ears are the words of owner Attila Gyurkovics before he locked us in: “Getting out is not guaranteed.”