Torn-paper gothic angel collage with blood-red paint and punk photocopy textures
LITERARY / HORROR/ PSYCHOLOGICAL/ TRANSGRESSIVE 

J. V.MolenaarInk bleeds.

Fiction for the beautifully disturbed.

Transgressive hearts. Gothic bones. Psychological nightmares. Stories that get under your skin—and stay there.

NOT FOR
THE FAINT
OF MIND.
PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK
01 / Bound in ink

The books. The damage.

Current & forthcoming ↓
Forthcoming / Featured work

Let Them Eat Cake: May They Choke On It

Let Them Eat Cake: May They Choke On It cover

A transgressive horror anthology.

Thirteen years. Thirteen stories. One question asked again and again until it stops sounding like a question: who's the bigger monster?

Let Them Eat Cake is not a novel dressed up as an anthology, and it isn't interested in your comfort. Each of its thirteen stories stands alone, one for every year of the AIDS crisis, 1984 to 1996, and each one drags a different rich, powerful, or simply comfortable villain into the light long enough to show you exactly what they cost. Real history runs underneath every page, the Buckley op-ed that actually proposed tattooing HIV-positive men, the real amendment that gutted AIDS education funding, the real drug that worked, eventually, for whoever could afford it first. This book didn't invent the cruelty. It just refused to look away from it.

The people fighting back in these pages are not heroes. They're damaged, furious, and often just as capable of real horror as the people they're aimed at. You'll root for them anyway. You might feel sick about that by the last page. That's the point.

This is a book for people who already know silence has a body count, and who are tired of being asked to stay quiet about it anyway.

Coming soon.

For readers of Clive Barker, Dennis Cooper, and anyone who ever stood in the back of a room with a fist raised and a sign that said SILENCE = DEATH.

Release details coming soon
Available now

Until the Light Resolves

Until the Light Resolves cover

He wakes before the light resolves in a room with no door, no window, no memory of how he arrived.

A corridor stretches in both directions, doors appearing and dissolving at intervals only it understands. A voice, calm and clinical, tells him to stabilize. To keep moving. To not look back.

He cannot remember his name. As the corridor's rules fracture and reassemble around him, fragments of another life surface: a kitchen gone silent with dread, a father's rage, a brother who needs protecting, a silence he learned to keep.

The line between where he is and where he's been begins to dissolve, and the reader is left to piece together, alongside him, what happened and what it cost.

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Fragments / Flash fiction & shorts

Small cuts. Deep wounds.

The next cut is coming. New flash fiction and short stories will appear here.

02 / Dispatches

From the writing desk.

New work. Restless thoughts.

Quiet at the desk. New dispatches are on their way.

Portrait of J. V. Molenaar
04 / Behind the ink

J. V. Molenaar.
Not quite resolved.

J. V. Molenaar crafts horror that reads like literary fiction and hits like it burned the rulebook that taught people complicity is easier than caring. He doesn't create monsters. He writes about the people who made them, and never lost a night's sleep over it.

A mind buries what it can't carry. A society buries people the same way, sends flowers instead of help, and calls the mass grave progress. Neither one gets to apologize its way out.

He studied psychology, then turned to fiction to say what the textbooks couldn't. He's now finishing a master's in Humanities with a focus in Creative Writing.

He'd tell you it gets better. He'd be lying. And he'd want you to be mad about it.

Ink bleeds. Stories stay.
Memberships / Certified human
05 / A line in the dark

Get in touch.

Reader letters. Press inquiries. Words from the other side. Rather scrawl in public? Visit the bathroom wall →

Find me in the dark