There’s something brewing in the genre that makes my horror-loving, gore-snacking, final-girl-rooting heart swell with joy. And it’s not another possession story or jump scare-laden ghost flick. It’s the rise of Black-led, Black-written, and Black-produced horror that isn’t solely rooted in Black trauma. And baby, it’s about time.
We’ve seen a steady shift in horror where Black folks are no longer just the first to die or the spiritual side character offering cryptic warnings. Instead, we’re surviving. We’re the leads. We’re the ones driving the narrative, not being driven by the generational trauma of racism, slavery, or segregation (in most cases). And I love it here.
From Jordan Peele’s Nope flipping the alien invasion trope on its head, to The Blackening dragging every horror cliché across the floor with a wink, a knife, and some hot sauce in its bag, we’re watching a renaissance unfold. Brandy’s return to horror in The Front Room? Iconic. Halle Berry anchoring Never Let Go? Tether me to that psychological chaos, please. And while I won’t touch on Jonathan Major’s situations, Lovecraft Country was absolutely everything and then some. Don’t even get me started on Sinners, a Southern Gothic vampire horror set in 1930s Mississippi. The culture is thriving.
While it’s important to acknowledge that some recent projects like Lovecraft Country and Sinners do weave elements of racism and segregation, those themes are not the sole heartbeat of the story. They exist as part of the world these characters navigate, but they don’t define the characters’ entire existence or drive every plot point. In Lovecraft Country, monsters both human and supernatural threaten survival, and in Sinners, vampirism and folklore take center stage over historical pain. These stories let Black characters exist fully -fighting, loving, scheming, surviving- without being reduced to just victims of history. It’s horror where Blackness is present but not boxed in.
This shift matters. While art has the power to reflect struggle, it also has the right to offer escape. Black horror doesn’t have to mean rehashing the pain our ancestors carried. It can be about haunted mirrors, unexplainable creatures, cursed vinyl records, or that one demon that shouldn’t have picked a Black household to haunt. It’s all terrifying. And the best part? It gives us space to be fully human in fear, in fight, and in flight.
Let’s be real. Culturally, Black folks don’t play with supernatural nonsense. We hear a whisper in the attic and move out before the opening credits finish. We see a possessed doll? That thing’s getting burned and blessed not brought home. So when we do stick around in a horror story, you know it’s got to be some truly next-level type of energy. That’s what makes our presence in horror so rich. It forces the genre to level up.
This isn’t just a trend. It’s a movement, and I hope we keep it going. I want more Black witches, Black werewolves, Black haunted house hunters, and Black alien abductions that don’t need to teach us a history lesson first or rehash our pain. I want screams, laughs and that one cousin yelling, “Nuh uh, not today Satan!” as they sprint out the frame.
To all the Black creators out here penning creepy scripts, building sinister scores, and producing spine-tingling scenes, thank you. You’re not just diversifying the genre. You’re giving horror a soul. As long as y’all keep making them, I’ll keep showing up with popcorn, snacks, and holy water—just in case.
Cover image via Bloody Disgusting
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