Jesse Shelley
Bio
Digital & criminal forensics expert, fiction crafter. I dissect crimes and noir tales alike—shaped by prompt rituals, investigative obsession, and narrative precision. Every case bleeds story. Every story, a darker truth. Come closer.
Stories (34)
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The House Across the Street Hasn’t Turned Off Its Porch Light in Months. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I first noticed in September. The warm glow spilling onto the empty porch night after night, cutting through the early autumn dark. I assumed someone had forgotten, or maybe they liked the security, the illusion of presence.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Criminal
Why Wearing Sunglasses Indoors Boosted My Confidence in Zoom Meetings 😎 . AI-Generated.
It started as a joke. A Tuesday morning experiment to spice up the monotony of another 47-hour meeting about… honestly, who even remembers? I slapped on my aviators 🕶️, leaned back in my chair, and prepared for the usual corporate nonsense.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Why Casually Eating Entire Cloves of Garlic During Meetings Earned Me a Fearsome Reputation. AI-Generated.
The meeting was supposed to last thirty minutes. In corporate time, that usually meant forty-five — but not today. Today, it would end precisely when I decided it should.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Prewash. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I found the blood in the sink again. Not fresh—never fresh. Thick, dark, clotted like guilt under fingernails. It didn’t alarm me this time. I just nudged the sponge aside and turned on the hot water. It’s easier when the steam blurs the reflection.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Just Say It, Already. AI-Generated.
“I’m not impatient,” I said, already hearing her next six words stacking like loose teeth behind her lips. “I’m efficient. You people treat conversations like IKEA furniture—‘some assembly required’ but always missing the goddamn wrench.”
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
The Whisper of Seleucia. AI-Generated.
I. The Scrolls That Drank Light In the heat-shimmered alleys of Seleucia-on-Tigris, where oxen groaned in tongues older than coin, a hunched figure arrived barefoot, his robe the color of wet ash. The guards at the Eastern Gate joked about his eyes—clouded like boiled milk—and how he smelled like stale cloves and river moss. He carried no gold, no seal of passage.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in History
Black Wings. AI-Generated.
Three were sent to kill a beast. One came back to become something worse. Jannik tied his boot a third time. It always came undone right before something bad happened. Like his mother’s throat. Like that cow last full moon. He looked up at the moon and tugged harder.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
The Timeless Harvest. AI-Generated.
In the year 2442, atop a jagged cliff perpetually battered by ominous storms, stood the Castle of Chronos. This was no ordinary castle. Its spires pierced the clouds, and its very stones seemed to hum with the power of time itself. Legends whispered that its inhabitants controlled the flow of history — reshaping events to suit their twisted desires. To many, they were gods; to others, monsters. The truth? Far darker and, perhaps, far more absurd.
By Jesse Shelley12 months ago in Fiction
