u/Alternative_Fun_1390

I’m writing this just minutes after waking up from a dream. It was a bonus video from Ivory discussing how the previous video—the one aimed at people who are transitioning—had been poorly received, and how she regretted the final part because it "blackmailed people in the trans community" or something like that. I don't know what she was referring to—obviously it was just a dream, not real—but seeing it left me very confused.

What surprised me the most was what happened next. I remember that, since it was a 45-minute video, I wasn't all that interested, so I was fast-forwarding through it until... "Wait, isn't that her voice from before transitioning?" And well, yes, it was. It gave me a huge scare, but it was mostly coming from the person he once was. I don't quite remember what was being said, but at a certain point, I realized the Minecraft player's POV was... well, his old skin, until he came across a 1x1 hole. He dug a parallel one, and at the bottom was Ivory's skin. Both players were crying and comforting each other. "It's okay. You are alive," Ivory said. "I love you," said his already-dead self.

Then she returned to her normal voice and began answering questions that appeared on the screen as comments; the only one I remember was whether her other self was going to return to what she said "No, he is dead for her own good". What followed was a scene that—honestly—struck me as the only good part of that dream: the two of them walking through the Minecraft Nether. It wasn't even cinematic; it wasn't like one of those dreamlike videos she used to make—it was just straight-up gameplay. I could even see the health and inventory bars. The funny thing is, both she and her past self were hopping around, dodging enemies, and messing with each other—trading jokes back and forth. I remember her past self had found what looked like some kind of egg—claiming it was a dragon egg she’d tamed using lava—while Ivory wanted to destroy it. They started bickering, but it wasn't an argument; it was just two friends playing Minecraft and trolling themselves.

At the very top of the biome, there was a sort of plateau. The only way up was via a set of rails. Ivory had gone up first, but that other version had stayed behind to look after the egg. Up at the top, there was a computer—blocky, obviously, since they were inside Minecraft, but huge, like something out of Akira or the like. You could see Ivory happily humming away as she deleted absolutely everything: her contacts, her YouTube channel, and even her Twitch account. There was a folder labeled something like "Past, Present, and Future," and she started deleting those files too. It made me laugh because, as things were being deleted, you could see that some folders contained a bunch of Illuminati symbols and references to "E. Island"—almost like a joke, as if to say, "Yeah, I'm deleting the evidence for this, too." I don't know, I found it funny that this happened in the dream; on one hand, I thought, "Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of silly thing the real-life Ivory would do." After that, there was also a folder labeled "things from the past," which was simply a bunch of images of cave paintings—literally photographs of Paleolithic paintings. I found it funny at first, until suddenly her "other self" stopped and cancelled the deletion process because I was about to erase the EscapeMaps videos.

"Wait, this is it?" He said "Are you gonna delete that too? Like if nothing ever happend? For some will be like if didn't even existed, but for others it happend..." Ivory stopped. She said something like a "...Yeah, about that". The video then returned to the original format, you know, cinematic... and then I woke up in ny bedroom. I rushed into my phone and checked her channel. Even if what I'm explaning isn't that bad, I'm glad this video never existed.

I said it because I think it's kinda fitting that this could be a space where people inspired by Ivory could do and share things similar to Whitepine, now that we are not getting any more content related to it.

You know, Minecraft roleplay/cinematic/machinima type like videos.

There are a TON out there.

I guess we are not having anything else. But o well... It was good while it last.

So, a while back, I sent a story to the YouTube channel via Gmail. You probably remember it; it’s not the most popular one, but it is certainly among the most shocking (according to members of this subreddit). Yes, I was the author. I prefer to remain anonymous for my own safety and that of the girl in pieces. It’s a nightmare, because it means I can’t share further information that might help in my search, but I need you to understand that the last thing I want is to blow this whole situation out of proportion unnecessarily.

Anyway, since sending that story, I haven't had any luck finding it again; so, taking advantage of the fact that I recently reconnected with old school friends—who were able to provide details I didn't remember or had simply mixed up—I feel compelled to retell the story, now with a fresh memory and greater clarity. I hope this helps me find you.

Well, back in the late-2000s, when I was in middle school—just on the verge of starting high school—a new student began appearing around the school grounds. You have to keep in mind that it was a massive campus, with students numbering in the scores from one classroom to the next; keeping track of who was in which room was a tedious task. Not to mention, roll call always happened at the end of class, so they only counted the students who were still there at the finish, not those who had arrived early. With that in mind, I want you to understand my reaction when—out of the absolute blue, right in the middle of the school year—this short-haired girl in a turtleneck sweater started slipping into classrooms, sitting as far away from everyone else as possible, and just watching. She didn't take notes, answer questions, or do anything other than listen to the teacher. My friends and I used to sit in the back because we were troublemakers, and sitting there allowed us to hide some of the things we did from the teachers. We didn’t take any importance to the new girl cause we thought, soon or later, someone will introduce her to the class. But the days passed, an entire week passed, and she was never brought up by anyone, only us.

To make matters worse, we only saw her when the class didn’t involve physical activity. It means that whenever something took place outdoors—in the middle of the court or involving intense physical activity—she never showed up. I was the one who came up with the realization of this, but none of my colleagues were interested, in fact, they completely forgot about her after the first week. I decided to go with the flow, cause at the end of the day, what else could I do? Maybe it was just one of those weird girls that didn’t like to speak with anyone else that isn’t on a computer. Or at least that’s what we—I thought.

During the third week—roughly midway through the year—my friends and I were running down the hallways (I don't recall why; I think we were late for class or something similar) when we happened to run right into her. In hindsight, she might have just been trying to avoid everyone, but unfortunately, she crossed paths with us—and in the worst possible way. I nearly collided with her, and the shock she got has stayed with me ever since; recently, when I got together with those friends, we even joked that it looked as if I’d stepped on a relative’s grave or something, because the high speech gasp and the instant paralysis I caused were truly alarming. She dropped her stuff right there and immediately ran off. We didn’t even stop or concern further about the encounter, we just kept running. Later that evening I began to feel bad about what happened. Maybe I touched or did something that really made her uncomfortable. That and because I didn’t want a report that involved my parents, I decided the next day to try making peace with her.

The following morning, I didn't tell my friends about this until recently, I only let them know that I was gonna be late for the next class, so that they could cover me. I waited for her outside the classroom, hoping to give her the space she needed to feel comfortable opening up, but in a moment of distraction, she simply hurried out. She didn't even look at me or seem to notice I was there; she just left. So, I followed her. I didn't call out to her because I didn't want her to feel or look any worse than she already did. I slowed down when she did, eventually watching her sit on a bench in the hallway. After that, she did nothing else—she didn't take anything out or say a word; she just sighed and sat there with her gaze cast downward. I can't deny that the sight made me feel for her. In part, I identified with that feeling; before meeting my friends, I always struggled to make connections. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that—even if the situations weren't identical—I understood the feeling. What I’m not proud of, however, is the decision to speak to her right then.

Here I was, standing like an idiot, without knowing what to say now. To be frank and not hiding anything shamefull, I said “Hi”. She didn’t answer. I got closer and shaked my hand in front of her face. She finally reacted. She looked at me with a concerned and confused look, I knew I was messing it up in real time, so I tried to be quick. I apologized for what happened yesterday and that I didn’t want to be on bad terms with her. She spoke one of the three answers she gave me: “It’s okay. Don’t worry”.
I then asked if she recovered the stuff that she left in our encounter. She gave me the second answer: “Yes”.
At that time, I knew she didn’t want me close anymore, I was about to leave and say goodbye, until I spotted something below her forehead. A blackish-purple bruise was barely hidden by her hair, which itself barely covered her eyes. I found myself wondering if I had caused it yesterday—perhaps that was why she had gasped so strongly. Or at least, that was my reasoning. I immediately asked if she got hurt by me, and her reaction was surprising for me. Her eyes widened in panic, and she quickly pulled away from me. I had already raised my hand to examine it, but this signaled me not to come any closer. She gave me her third and final answer: "You should go.” I didn’t push further, especially because I was getting late for the next class, so I apologized in exchange and I ran away.

The following days were very uncomfortable. Both for me and for her. For instance, I felt like I was in the blink of problems, for some reason I felt like if she could accuse me of anything and it would be my doom, all of that because of a giant misunderstanding. While all of that ran through my mind, I could tell you that she wasn’t having it easier. If previously she was kind of an outcast, now she looked afraid of… literally everything. Every person passing by, any word, there were times I even saw her hiding under a table for several minutes. I thought what I did just made something worse, so I decided to take matters into my own hands; I went to inform the teachers of what had happened and made sure, above all, that it was understood that this was my fault for pushing her into it. That’s when I realized she wasn't even in our class; there wasn't a single student matching her physical description, and to top it all off, no one knew her name. Since she wasn't technically enrolled in the school, there was nothing they could do, as she wasn't legally their responsibility. Needless to say, I was furious, but I didn't say anything. Seriously, I’m very glad those rules has changed for the time we are currently living. What kind of school allows that? Oh my god, I didn’t know how messed up this was the first time I told anyone about this.

The issue had slipped my mind—until a few days later, when I was left alone in detention for something stupid I’d done. That was when I saw her leaving the school for the first time. I didn't know exactly where she was going; however, she didn't take the path everyone else used to get to the suburbs, nor did she take the bus or wait for a ride. She simply walked off toward the industrial complex. Now, from what little I can say about the place where I live, it was an industrial town, but at the time it had been going through severe economic problems, and as a result, many factories had closed and many people had been laid off, leaving behind vast, abandoned factories. For some time now, some still seemed to be in good condition, but it was a place where one didn't want to go, mostly because that's where young delinquents or homeless people went if they didn't want to be interrupted. Therefore, I was even more surprised when I saw that she went there not once, not twice, but three days in a row, exactly the same number of days that my school detention lasted.

I shamefully admit that I began to develop a certain concern for her. I'm currently 5'10" (1.78 m) tall, and back in my school days she reached at my chin, making her a vulnerable person in one of the worst scenarios to be in. So, once my suspension was lifted on the fourth day, I decided to wait for her, but instead of confronting her to avoid any further problems, I decided to follow her—possibly one of the worst ideas I'd ever had. I didn't have any backup plan in case she realized I was following her; she might have reported me or gotten me expelled from school somehow, but I was confident this little expedition would result in something that could be useful for the whole inconvenience. Or at least that was my hope. I made sure she didn't realize I was constantly following her—usually keeping a street's distance—quickly moving up to the corner she had turned and waiting there to see which way she would go next. In my mind, I often whispered, "Please, don't go in there," because the further she walked, the more I realized that not only was she putting herself at risk, but I was endangering my own health as well.

Eventually, she veered toward a building—though I would be lying if I claimed to remember exactly what kind of building it was; my memory is hazy on that point, and I cannot recall whether it was an abandoned house or a factory. What I do remember is the feeling I had when I first saw the place; I really wondered if that was how she lived—something that didn't square at all with the way she dressed, since she didn't look like someone of limited means. Then, another image came to mind: the bruise on her forehead and the silence she maintained made me wonder if she might be suffering from abuse. I may have jumped to hasty conclusions sooner than expected; however, my concern was genuine. That place wasn't even somewhere a person our age should be living, and suddenly, much of her behavior started to make a bit more sense—perhaps that was the reason she wasn't even enrolled in school and was keeping such a low profile. It was getting dark, so I sprinted as fast as I could to a safe area where I knew I wouldn't be attacked. On the way, I started thinking about more things about her, and I'm going to mention them all at once because at first, when I answered the story for the first time, I didn't properly gather it. In all the time I had seen her at the school, I had never seen her eat, I had never seen her in the school cafeteria, and I had never seen her drink water either, so my brain intuited that she simply wasn't hungry. But if they were really in a condition of poverty, because of the fact that she wouldn't take advantage of eating something that the school is essentially providing, no one would realize that she wasn't a student. It wasn't until I reported him that all the teachers and the principal found out. She didn't talk to anyone else and I didn't see her, not even during recess. Most likely she'll stay in the classrooms until the bell rings, which is totally normal, but in this context it's still strange.

The reason I did what I did next was simply because my past actions had consequences that affected me up to that point; teachers tried to intervene and speak with her—not officially on behalf of the school, but simply out of human concern—to see if something had happened or if she needed anything. Instead, she would just run away; at one point, classes were delayed by fifteen minutes while they searched the entire facility for her, and—according to a friend of mine—she was eventually found in the girls' restroom, curled up in the fetal position. The teachers tried to question her, but she didn't say a word. They simply let her go because at the end of the day they couldn't restrict her from staying there any longer. They simply offered her an enrollment, and she nodded, as far as I could hear. Luckily for me, she returned to her home, or what included her home, quite early, but I was stuck at school until the bell rang. My school suspension had already been lifted, so I patiently waited to be able to go there again.

When I got home, I picked up the phone and tried to report suspicious signs of abuse; however, the authorities told me that without an actual address—or even a name—there was nothing they could do. After all, I didn't even know who might be harming her. So, I decided to do something else foolish: I grabbed my flashlight, an audio recorder that I had and a pocketknife for protection and headed out to where she was taking shelter. This is the point in the story that those who have heard it before will recognize immediately upon seeing the title. For those who haven't, I ask you to please keep an open mind regarding what I am about to share; I haven't told this story to anyone other than the people in this group and the viewers of the YouTube video where I originally posted it, hoping to find her again. I was younger back then, and I deeply regret what I did because, to be perfectly honest, I probably would have just come across as a freak. Just writing this makes me look even worse, like I can't even share an anecdote I probably would have imagined when I was younger. But I insist, what I'm about to tell you isn't fiction.

I reached the building where I had seen her enter that time; I was able to spot it simply because a beautiful light was shining through a small window with a broken pane. It was the only source of light in the entire place—not even the streetlamps were on. I approached cautiously, trying to keep my footsteps silent, and attempted to peer in through the broken frame. Far from the noise, what my eyes saw was a small room, a bedside table, a bed with gray sheets, and without quite understanding the light, a trunk, a backpack, and finally, before I could even process the information, the girl in question, still wearing her sweater. I ducked down, not wanting her to realize I was there. I realized at that point that the idea had been a total stupidity; not only did she live alone, but on top of that, it had put me in a situation that made me look like a stalker or a pervert, like someone obsessed. What came next didn't help that feeling; I could have already undressed, how she took off her sweater and then a blouse she was wearing underneath, then she left herself only in her bra. Fortunally facing backwards.
I covered my mouth in shock; this wasn't my plan. But then the girl placed her right hand on her left shoulder and, with astonishing ease, removed her arm, placing it on the bed. I thought it must be a prosthesis—it had to be a prosthesis—and instead, all I saw was an arm that had functioned just moments before like a normal one.
Then she went to hold her hair and removed her head.

It came off like when you take the head off a doll with the joint still inside. My surprise was so great that I couldn't avoid tripping and falling on my back. At that moment I made too much noise, I got scared, I tried to get up and when I tried to regain my position I realized that she had turned around in fright. A sudden gasp of fear flooded the ambiente, it was hers. Any doubts or abstract thoughts trying to find logic in what I had just seen—maybe an optical illusion, maybe a costume, maybe a prosthesis, or maybe I simply mistook someone for someone else—did not change into doubts when I saw the torso turn as if the head were still looking at me. She had put both hands to her chest trying to cover herself. But by that point I had already turned around and started to flee. I could see from a considerable distance how Bella went out in an instant. I was left in the dark in the middle of the street and the only thing I did was turn on the flashlight and start running. I didn't stop until I got to my room. My fathers didn’t asked why. I locked my door, bolted the window, and like a small child, I protected myself with my own blankets. That night I didn’t sleep at all.

And unfortunately, this is the moment in the story where things can get frustrating. When I arrived, the teachers told me that my partner, if she ever was one, hadn't shown up that day. She was simply gone. Once I left school, I decided to go back to where I had found her. I was thinking about the way back, about all the things I could say, the apologies, the questions, and also whether she might hurt me. And yet, when I arrived, the room that had been there the night before had disappeared. There was no trunk, no bed, no backpack. There was no nightstand. The only thing there was a candle, the only thing that gave me proof that I hadn't hallucinated anything. I didn't tell anyone in my inner circle this part of the story—and who could blame me? Not only would I have sounded like a madman, but the event itself is also pretty hard to believe. Furthermore, when I first sent the story to this YouTuber, my only intention was to track her down; however, I later realized that I had given him a terrible impression, because in that initial version, I had portrayed her as something other than human. I don't really know what she is—I don't know what it is that he has—but up until that point, I still thought of her as a person. Yet, my first version of the story portrayed him as a monster.

Time passed and I convinced myself that this had been nothing more than a hallucination of mine or a story that I mixed up over time, horror stories that would spread in the school later, the people in my classroom and in the rest of the facilities were seeing, they simply forgot, for them it was a weird girl who one day entered the school and then did not return, for me it had become something else. Since I never shared this with anyone, until recently I began mixing in details that had absolutely nothing to do with the story; for example, in the first version I gave—in the video statement—I mentioned seeing wounds around her arm, something I didn't actually see because she was wearing a sweater. I also remember that in the first version I had described him with a green ribbon around his neck, something that didn't actually happen since, as I mentioned, he was wearing a sweater instead. I think I ended up taking that detail from a fairly popular horror story that subconsciously ends up mixing with my own experience.

It wasn't until recently that I decided to share the whole truth with my friends. Then they started sending me some of the details I began to relate at the beginning of this story, details that had escaped me and that I didn't remember well. Then the puzzle pieces began to come together once again. It was then that I decided to retell this story, not as some kind of attempt at a horror story, but more as an apology. I'm not sure if she'll ever read this. Hell, we all know what happened to this guy's original video, and yet, I'd like to say that more than anything, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for behaving that way and for leaving you with such a bad impression. It wasn't my intention; the truth is, I only wanted to help. The only reason I'm still writing this is because I want to bring closure to this stage of my life. I've never been a believer in paranormal things, but this is one of those things that escapes any kind of reasoning. More than anything, because all the details ended up fitting together too well.

So if anyone has information they'd like to share, or if anyone has something similar to what I have, please send me a private message. I would greatly appreciate it.

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EDIT 09/10/26

Guess who found me first.

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Written by Alan G. Bandala.
Based on a story by Dross Rotzank.

I use Sewer Toys, I think is the best.

Here are my points:

1- Many independent psychological horror games are heavily influenced by Resident Evil or Silent Hill; the issue is that this influence often leads to a point where they bring absolutely nothing new to the table. In fact, you could argue that if you simply changed the title, they would be virtually indistinguishable from the major franchises. This is a problem that has persisted since the PlayStation 2 era, when those two franchises became so popular that everyone wanted to emulate them. In recent years I've noticed that several developers, instead of trying to do something unique, have the mindset of distancing themselves as much as possible from the main franchises to try to avoid comparisons, and yet there are some that are very heavily compared simply because, well, there are narrative and word-building elements that are simply undeniable.

I think it was a brilliant move for Konami to give certain studios the chance to use their own existing story concepts under the *Silent Hill* banner. Not only are there countless people who would love to work on this franchise, but this approach also spares creators—who might be too deeply attached to their original vision to alter it without ruining the narrative—from having to deal with comparisons to the series that inspired them; after all, the project is now officially part of that very franchise.

2- Silent Hill was always an extremely experimental game. In fact, the games that you could say come closest to what people usually categorize as the true Silent Hill experience are usually due to the fact that the developers had to do fan service to try to appeal to the audiences they already had. For example, the third game was not going to have absolutely anything to do with the cult from the first one, but due to the mixed reception of Silent Hill 2, Team Silent had to redesign the story. Same happend with SH4.

Not to mention, I'm almost 100% convinced that if Hideo Kojima's game had been released, people would still be complaining.

3- Honestly—and this is mostly a personal take—I don't like seeing so many elements from the franchise repeated in later games. Sure, they’re classics and they look incredible, but sooner or later, I know I’m going to get tired of the visual aesthetic. It’s not because the style is bad—in fact, it’s the main reason people still hold the original trilogy in such high regard—but because, at a certain point, it starts to feel predictable; you know exactly what to expect. And if you don't know what to expect, your standards are already so high that nothing else can really measure up. From my perspective, the solution is simple: don't try to replicate it. Offer something new—something different. That’s essentially what Silent Hill 2 did: Alessa’s monsters had nothing to do with James’s or Angela’s, yet they still became iconic.

Now, I don't want to be misunderstood; this isn't directly justifying some of the decisions being made regarding the franchise as a whole—especially that sort of interactive game where you had to pay to make a choice (which was simply silly), or Short Message, which honestly left me quite disappointed.