A24 says it does not own the Backrooms community’s yellow wallpaper, original post, or fan works after reported takedowns hit Redbubble art and indie games.
Image: popculturenews.com
A24 backs away from Backrooms claims after creators sound the alarm
A24 has publicly said it “makes no claim of ownership” over the Backrooms’ yellow wallpaper, the original post that helped launch the creepypasta, or the community works built around it, after artists and indie developers reported takedowns and platform strikes tied to “A24 Films LLC.” Polygon reported that the statement appeared on the official Backrooms Instagram account, where A24 said an automated Redbubble claim was being reversed and framed the incident as a mistake rather than a new ownership push over the broader Backrooms ecosystem.
That clarification followed two days of angry posts from creators who said their Backrooms-inspired work had been removed or penalized on platforms including Redbubble and Google Play. The first widely shared case came from Reddit user GnarlyNet, who said Redbubble removed a wallpaper design after a complaint submitted on behalf of “A24 Films LLC.” GnarlyNet said the design was based on the famous 2019 Backrooms image, not on A24’s film or merchandise, and later clarified, according to The Tab, that they had not received direct communication from A24 and could only confirm what Redbubble had told them.
The immediate tension is obvious. A24 released a hit Backrooms movie in 2026 with director Kane Parsons, but the Backrooms did not begin as an A24 property. It grew out of anonymous internet horror, shared visual language, short fiction, videos, and indie games. When a studio’s enforcement machinery appears in that space, even by error, it feels less like paperwork and more like a fluorescent hallway closing in from both ends.
The reported strikes were not all the same kind of claim
The clearest reported case involves Redbubble. GameSpot, IGN, Polygon, TheGamer, and The Tab all point back to GnarlyNet’s July 15 Reddit post, where the artist said a Backrooms-inspired design had been taken down after Redbubble identified the complaint as coming on behalf of A24 Films LLC. IGN also reported another Reddit user’s claim that Redbubble removed Backrooms-adjacent art that was not focused on the wallpaper pattern, including images of two women in a fluorescent hallway and an office-like liminal space.
The game side is messier. Kotaku reported that Davilkus Games said it received three strikes earlier in July and that its Google Play developer account was banned. The developer said its project, originally titled Exit the Backrooms: Level 94, had to be renamed Liminal Complex: Level 94 because Google Play treated it as violating the platform’s impersonation policy. Polygon reported that Davilkus Games said Backrooms: Level 94 had been hit with copyright claims on Google Play and that at least “3 other small indie devs” had similar problems.
Those details matter because “copyright strike” became the community’s shorthand, but the platform mechanisms described in the reports differ. Redbubble was described as acting on a complaint submitted on behalf of A24 Films LLC. Google Play, according to the developer’s own account cited by Kotaku, invoked impersonation policy. Kane Parsons later told fans, in Discord comments reported by Polygon and Kotaku, that A24 had told him the wallpaper takedowns were “an outsourced system error in pursuit of removing camrips,” while “anything further” appeared to be “somehow not them.” That leaves the Google Play incidents less cleanly tied to A24 than the Redbubble notices, even if creators experienced them as part of the same Backrooms controversy.
Kane Parsons moved quickly, and A24’s statement narrowed the damage
Parsons’ intervention changed the temperature of the story. On the r/backrooms thread, he wrote, “I’m looking into this. Should not be happening,” a comment cited by GameSpot, IGN, Polygon, Kotaku, and TheGamer. Polygon also reported that Parsons had previously described the Backrooms concept in an interview with Smosh Alike as an “open-source, public domain idea,” adding that there had not been “any interest in going after people” because that would anger the community “for no good reason.”
After the backlash widened, Polygon and Kotaku reported screenshots of Parsons’ Discord comments saying A24 had told him the Redbubble takedowns were an outsourced system error aimed at removing camrips. Kotaku said it reached out to Parsons to confirm the screenshots, while noting moderators on his public Discord had said they were legitimate. In those reported comments, Parsons said A24 had been adamant that it “never wanted to touch the community,” and that he was pressing the company for answers.
A24’s eventual Instagram statement, as reported by Polygon and Kotaku, tried to draw a firm line between protecting its film and claiming the wider mythos. Kotaku quoted A24 acknowledging that Backrooms is part of “an infinitely bigger ecosystem” filled with creatives who have a right to tell their own version of the story. Kotaku also reported that A24 confirmed it had no intention of striking new Backrooms videos released by online creators. That does not erase the disruption for artists who lost listings or developers who say accounts were hit, but it does make the studio’s official position clearer than the takedowns themselves did.
Backrooms ownership is a maze by design
The Backrooms is especially vulnerable to this kind of dispute because its power comes from shared recognition rather than a single clean chain of authorship. TheGamer traces the concept to an anonymous 4chan creepypasta in 2019: a liminal labyrinth built around the feeling of noclipping out of reality. From there, the idea spread through stories, videos, art, and games, each adding new rooms, levels, entities, rules, and textures to the same dreadful office-light atmosphere.
The Tab adds another wrinkle: the original photo was later traced to a HobbyTown store before renovation and found by building owner Bob Mazza. The Tab also notes that Mazza does not own the yellow wallpaper itself, and that there is no single owner of the wallpaper or the broader Backrooms ecosystem. That is an important distinction. A film studio can own its specific movie, footage, promotional art, logos, recordings, and other protected elements. The sources provided here do not support the idea that A24 owns the entire concept of yellowed liminal rooms, the original 2019 prompt, or every community riff that came after it.
Parsons sits at the center of that tension. As TheGamer notes, he was one of many creators who built on the myth, making a nine-minute found-footage horror short as Kane Pixels when he was 16. That work became popular enough to lead to A24’s feature film. GameSpot reports that Backrooms launched earlier in 2026 and became a major box-office success, making almost $375 million from a $10 million budget. The larger the movie becomes, the more likely enforcement systems, platform filters, and brand-protection contractors are to treat the surrounding visual language as a corporate perimeter. For internet horror, that perimeter is rarely tidy.
Creators are reacting to the threat as much as the takedowns
The community response was sharp because Backrooms creators understood the incident as a warning shot. Polygon cited a Backrooms fan account on X accusing A24 of acting like it owned Backrooms after reports of strikes against themed items, wallpaper designs, and indie games. The anger was not limited to one removed Redbubble product. It came from the fear that a grassroots horror space could be retroactively fenced off after a studio adaptation became profitable.
That fear has a practical edge for game developers. A Google Play ban, if accurately described by Davilkus Games in the reports, is not a symbolic problem. It can cut off distribution, revenue, updates, and access to an audience. A Redbubble removal can be disputed, as GnarlyNet said they did, but the burden still shifts to the individual creator to explain where their work came from and why it is independent. In horror terms, the monster here is procedural: automated systems, outsourced enforcement, platform policy categories, and appeals queues that can flatten context.
The incident also landed during a rough public-relations stretch for A24. GameSpot noted criticism of the studio’s $75 million AI research partnership with Google DeepMind, and reported that Parsons told fans on Discord those resources would not be spent on Backrooms or potential sequels. That separate controversy does not prove anything about the takedowns, but it helps explain why fans were primed to read automated enforcement as another sign of a studio drifting away from the community culture that made Backrooms valuable in the first place.
Practical guidance for internet horror creators after the Backrooms dispute
For artists, filmmakers, and indie developers working in Backrooms-style liminal horror, the safest lesson is not to panic, but to document everything. If your work draws from the 2019 creepypasta tradition rather than A24’s film, keep dated files, sketches, source notes, store descriptions, and records showing independent creation. GnarlyNet’s reported appeal hinged on that distinction: the design was said to be recreated from the original 2019 Backrooms image, not copied from A24’s movie or merchandise.
Developers should also treat platform language carefully. The Davilkus Games case, as reported by Kotaku, involved Google Play’s impersonation policy and a title that included Backrooms before the project was renamed Liminal Complex: Level 94. That does not mean every Backrooms game must change its name, and none of the provided sources report a legal ruling on that point. It does show that storefronts can act on brand confusion separately from a studio’s direct copyright position. If a game uses “Backrooms” in its title, store art, screenshots, or metadata, the developer should be ready for a platform review that may not understand the difference between a community genre label and a film brand.
Creators should avoid A24-specific material unless they have permission. That includes film footage, camrips, official posters, logos, cast likenesses, audio, exact set designs, and marketing assets. A24 told Parsons, according to Polygon and Kotaku’s reporting of his Discord comments, that the erroneous wallpaper takedowns came from an outsourced system meant to remove camrips. Even if that explanation is accepted, it shows where the studio says its enforcement was aimed: protecting the movie, not claiming the whole labyrinth.
The dispute is quieter now, but the door is still open
The current confirmed position is narrower than the first wave of reports suggested. A24’s official Backrooms Instagram statement, as covered by Polygon, says the studio does not claim ownership over the yellow wallpaper, the original post, or the community works inspired by it. Kotaku reports that A24 acknowledged the mistake and said Backrooms belongs to a much larger creative ecosystem. Parsons said publicly on Reddit that the takedowns should not be happening, then reportedly pressed A24 privately for answers.
The unanswered questions are still important. The sources do not establish who initiated every reported claim, how Redbubble’s process identified A24 Films LLC, whether affected listings were fully restored, or how Google Play’s actions against Davilkus Games and other developers will be resolved. Parsons’ reported Discord comments even separate the Redbubble wallpaper takedowns from “anything further,” which he said appeared not to be A24. That conflict should not be smoothed over. The Redbubble cases and Google Play cases may share a community panic, but the available reporting does not prove they share the same enforcement source.
For internet horror copyright, the Backrooms controversy is a case study in how fragile community-born genres become once a major adaptation succeeds. The lights hum, the carpet dampens, and everyone recognizes the room, but recognition is not the same as ownership. A24 has now said the community can keep building. Creators should take that statement seriously, while also keeping receipts, reading platform notices closely, and remembering that automated systems can still turn a familiar hallway into a locked door.