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 (36)
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The Quiet Compression. AI-Generated.
You see, the Greys don’t erase planets. They compress them. Into one person. Osmosis isn’t the right word, but it’s close enough. They pour every ounce of being—every scream, every soil microbe, every wrong goodbye—into that final witness. It steeps in the marrow.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Poopy Man Doesn't Knock. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
He started showing up after the plumbing backed up. Not immediately—about two weeks after the smell settled into the drywall and something oily began dripping from the ceiling vent. That’s when I noticed the stains.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Echo Protocol. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
He ironed his slacks the same way every morning—four strokes on each leg, crease sharp enough to split atoms. Routine kept the silence away. On Base 42A, buried beneath acres of winter wheat and official denials, routine was doctrine.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Popcorn Weather. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
He sat on his porch every night, eyes glued to the black sky, the bucket of popcorn perched like a crown on his knee. The neighbors laughed at first, calling him “Big Popcorn”—until they stopped answering their doors.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Always Asleep. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I was drunk when I decided to do it. Not tipsy, not philosophical — drunk. The kind of drunk that makes your hands itch and your morals go quiet. One fist clutched a bottle, the other gripped the shotgun. I stumbled down the block, boots clapping the pavement like punctuation marks.
By Jesse Shelley8 months ago in Fiction
I Found an Old Photo Album. Every Picture Was of Me With People I’ve Never Met.. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
It was wedged between dusty cookbooks in the back of a cabinet I didn’t remember using. A thick leather-bound 4" x 6" photo album, edges worn, spine cracked.
By Jesse Shelley8 months ago in Fiction
Why I Started Muting Myself Mid-Sentence and Acting Like I Was Arguing With Someone Offscreen. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
It began as an accident. A glitch, maybe. My mic cut out mid-sentence during a meeting, and for a moment, I sat there, lips moving, hands gesturing, completely unaware that no one could hear me.
By Jesse Shelley8 months ago in Fiction
