In the shadowy corners of cinema and literature, monsters have long lurked—Frankenstein’s creature, the blood-thirsty vampire, the outcast witch. Historically feared, reviled, and misunderstood, these beings were cast out by society—just as queer individuals often have been. But today, queer creators are not just confronting the horror genre—they are reclaiming it. They are wielding its monstrous metaphors to articulate queer rage, trauma,
and survival with revolutionary force.
The Monster as a Queer Mirror
Academic and queer theorist Jack Halberstam famously argued in Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters that horror has always been queer. Monsters disturb boundaries—of gender, of morality, of nature. For Halberstam, the Gothic is “a technology for producing monsters,” which, in turn, reflect society’s deepest anxieties.
Monsters, then, become metaphors for queer existence—an existence that society has historically othered, punished, and silenced.
Frankenstein’s Creature and the Queer Body
Take Frankenstein (1818). Mary Shelley’s creature is a patchwork body, created by a man, rejected by society, and condemned to isolation. Queer artists have found deep resonance in the creature’s pain and his demand to be seen and loved.
In the short film The Quiet Room (2018) by Sam Wineman, a queer horror filmmaker, the protagonist—haunted by a demon named Hattie—is driven by personal trauma and suicidal ideation. Wineman has spoken about using horror to “create space for my identity and trauma.” Like Frankenstein’s monster, Hattie is born from repression and neglect, a haunting presence for those who’ve been unseen.
Vampires and the Queer Appetite
Vampires, with their eroticism and ambiguity, have long been coded as queer. Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (1976), for example, features the homoerotic bond between Louis and Lestat, but it is queer creators who have reclaimed this subtext into text.
Cheryl Dunye’s The Owls (2010), for instance, uses queer vampires to question generational divides in the LGBTQ+ community. In today’s work, like Bit (2019), a trans-led vampire film by Brad Michael Elmore, the vampire is no longer just a tragic metaphor—they are powerful, autonomous, and vengeful.
Queer rage here is not something to be hidden—it’s fanged, fearless, and feminine.
Witches, Gender Nonconformity, and Rebellion
Witches are perhaps the most enduring of “othered” figures—gendered, feared, and burned for being different. Witches have become a rallying point for queer feminists, non-binary individuals, and trans creators.
A key example is AHS alum Billy Porter’s work in Coven of Sisters and beyond, which draws direct parallels between witch trials and societal condemnation of queerness. Trans artist Alok Vaid-Menon has spoken about witchcraft as a metaphor for trans resilience—”we are what they tried to burn.”
And then there’s The Craft (1996), a cult classic reclaimed by generations of queer youth.
The 2020 reboot, The Craft: Legacy, explicitly centers a queer protagonist, framing witchcraft not only as empowerment but as survival.
Scientific Literature: Horror and Identity Processing
Psychological studies support the idea that horror helps marginalized groups process trauma. A 2020 paper in Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts found that people who identify with the “monstrous” in media often experience catharsis and identity affirmation.
A 2022 study published in Media Psychology explored how LGBTQ+ viewers found empowerment through horror by identifying with villains or monsters who challenge societal norms—an act of symbolic resistance.
Conclusion: Rage as Resistance, Survival as Spellwork
The monster is no longer a symbol of fear—it is a banner of power. In the hands of queer creators, horror becomes reclamation. It is queer rage turned into narrative muscle, trauma transfigured into a cinematic hex.
The monstrous is not what they are—it’s what they’ve endured. And in reclaiming it, they transform fear into survival—and silence into scream.
