Queer horror is booming. But where are the neurodivergent protagonists? This roundup highlights spine-tingling reads from LGBTQIA+ and ND authors who turn terror into truth — and validate the weird girls, the quiet boys, and everyone in between.

My whole life, I’ve been incapable of picking a lane. No wonder I never learned to drive. Born on a cusp, a multihyphenate by nationality and profession, and bisexual to boot – clearly, I was put on this earth to sit on fences, and not on chairs. 

Hollywood loves a good trope, and when it comes to autism, they just can’t quit the “genius loner” stereotype. From Rain Man’s savant math skills to The Accountant’s gun-toting superpowers, the message is clear: autism equals extraordinary talent, wrapped in social isolation. But real-life neurodivergence? Way more nuanced — and way less predictable.

Growing up Black and neurodivergent felt like living in a world that didn’t see me — or worse, saw me all wrong. I wasn’t what people pictured when they thought “autism” or “ADHD,” so I got labeled everything else. Too loud. Too sensitive. Too much. But the truth is, I’ve always just been me: Black, neurodivergent, and whole.

My LinkedIn doesn’t shout about my ADHD superpowers. I don’t weave Sensory Processing Disorder into my professional identity. While some proudly own their neurodivergence in public spaces, I keep mine close to the vest. For me, it’s about securing my own oxygen mask first — and sometimes that means staying quiet.