Dictionary of Trans Horror Tropes

By Darby Power

Body Horror is its own explanation.

Came Back Wrong is when my mother thinks I’m like this because of some sort of trauma. She needs it to be something specific because then it isn’t her fault. She thinks it’s a question of fault.

Cursed Artifact is the decade-old dresses that still hang in my closet, all the past-life clothing I can’t seem to get rid of.

Doomed by the Narrative is watching the news, refreshing the map of anti-trans legislation, crossing the grad program in Florida off the list even before I get the rejection letter.

Escaped Mental Patient is if I’d been born into slightly different circumstances, maybe lived a few decades earlier.

Final Girl is the fear that my body will survive me, will be what remains to tell the story of me after I die. The last one standing. Girl in ways I cannot erase.

Harbinger is the phone tab where I’ve had Erin in the Morning open for more than a year now, trying to warn myself of what’s coming.

Haunted House is my body.

Haunted Photograph is pretty much any old picture of myself. I’ve stopped trying to hang photos of me and my loved ones on the walls. They just live in a box now. It’s easier. 

Human Sacrifice is all the tombstones above bodies like mine with the wrong names purposely, violently carved in them.

Jump Scare is when I look up and the thing in the mirror I don’t recognize is me.

Medical Horror is a learned avoidance of most doctors altogether.

Necromancy is when I séance certain parts of myself for family occasions. 

Not-Quite Dead is when the socializations, the ways of performance I thought I’d let go of unexpectedly and unconsciously reappear.

Occult Ritual is the years of wishes and prayers I made for things I didn’t really fully understand, yet, but knew I wanted more than anything.

Possessed Doll is my body.

Prophetic Vision is how all the pleasant dreams I remember from childhood were ones where I wasn’t in my body, where briefly I got to be someone else.

Religious Cult is why I haven’t been to church in years. It’s not a question of belief in a God, but an inability to believe in organized religion, anymore. See also, Religious Trauma.

The Big Bad is my body. Or the government. Or my family. Or that roommate from junior year. Or the word ma’am. Or the attendant in Primark who won’t let me use the fitting rooms. Or the dissociation. Or the dysphoria. Or the shouts hurled from the truck as it careens around the corner a block from my apartment. Or the cost of top surgery. Or the way my whole body tenses out of habit around certain people. Or public bathrooms. Or the statistics. Or the never knowing how afraid I need to be. 

About the Author

Darby Power is a hybrid-forms writer and teacher from Los Angeles. They are an MFA candidate at the University of Alabama, where they are also pursuing an MA through the Hudson Strode Program in Renaissance Studies. They were a finalist for the 2024 Elizabeth Meese Prize in Creative Nonfiction and the 2024 Page Prize in Creative Nonfiction, and their work has been featured in the New South Young Playwrights Festival and in storytwigs. They are the managing editor of Black Warrior Review, and were the 2024 co-editor of Boyfriend Village.