Dead Plate Oneshots The Carpenter

—

Moving to a small town had seemed like the perfect escape for Manon. She wanted peace, a place to settle her nerves after the chaos of her past. The town, nestled between rolling hills and ancient trees, had seemed ideal. Quiet, isolated, and quaint. But from the moment she arrived, something felt wrong. The people were too quiet, too fearful, and too eager to stay out of each other’s way.

It wasn’t long before she learned why.

The name passed through hushed conversations, nervous glances over shoulders—**Rody Lamoree**, the town’s carpenter. The mere mention of him sent shivers through the townsfolk, and no one dared speak openly about him. The few words she could piece together from their fearful mutterings painted him as something more than a mere craftsman. Rody was *dangerous*, the kind of man who wielded power over the town not through authority, but through fear.

And there was something even more unsettling—the mayor’s son, Vincent. Wherever Rody went, Vincent was sure to follow, lingering by his side like a shadow. While the town cowered in fear, Vincent seemed utterly unafraid, always trailing behind Rody with a strange devotion in his eyes.

Manon’s curiosity got the better of her. She watched them from a distance. The more she observed, the more twisted things became.

—

The first time she saw Rody up close was in the market. He stood tall and imposing, his green eyes sharp and alert, cutting through the crowd like a predator surveying his prey. His auburn hair, thick and wild, framed a face that seemed both rugged and sharp, his jawline tense with barely concealed aggression. The townspeople parted for him like the Red Sea, avoiding eye contact and hastily finishing their business whenever he appeared.

Vincent was there too, lingering close, as he always did. In contrast to Rody’s raw physicality, Vincent seemed frail. His skin was pale, his dark eyes haunted by sleepless nights, yet there was a softness to him—a kind of tragic beauty. He was quiet, demure, and every so often, Rody’s hand would find its way to the back of his neck, a possessive, almost tender touch. But Manon knew there was something wrong with how Rody treated him. Vincent didn’t seem to notice or care. The affection from Rody was always returned with a look that bordered on worship.

Manon’s skin crawled every time she saw them together, but she couldn’t help but be fascinated. She heard the whispers of what happened to those who crossed Rody. People disappeared. No one dared to stand against him, not even the mayor. In fact, the mayor was the most spineless of them all, terrified of what Rody might do to his son.

Vincent seemed oblivious, as though he lived in a completely different world. Manon couldn’t understand it. How could someone be so blind to the monster standing right beside them?

—

It wasn’t long before the truth hit Manon like a sledgehammer.

It was late one night, and she couldn’t sleep. Restlessness gnawed at her, so she decided to take a walk. The town was eerily silent at night, the only sound being the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. As she passed by the town square, she noticed a light coming from Rody’s workshop, which stood on the outskirts.

Her curiosity got the better of her. She knew she shouldn’t—knew that getting involved would only lead to trouble—but something about the place called to her, as if the answers she sought were hidden inside.

She crept closer, sticking to the shadows, careful not to make any noise. The window was slightly ajar, and through the small crack, she could hear voices. Rody’s deep, gravelly tone was unmistakable, but what caught her attention most was the laughter. Soft, intimate, almost *playful*.

Vincent.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she peered inside.

Rody stood by his workbench, shirtless, his broad, muscular frame gleaming with sweat. Vincent was perched on the edge of the table, his shirt unbuttoned, exposing his pale chest. The scene before her was a shocking contrast to the grim fear that permeated the town. Rody’s hands traced Vincent’s skin with a familiarity that made Manon’s stomach churn, and Vincent leaned into his touch, eyes closed, lips parted in a soft, contented smile.

They were lovers. Intimate in a way that seemed almost sacred to Vincent.

But Rody’s affection felt different. Darker. Possessive.

Manon’s breath hitched, but before she could pull away, something caught her eye—a dark shape slumped in the corner of the room, almost out of view. At first, she thought it was just a pile of rags or discarded wood, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized with horror what she was looking at.

A body.

Blood pooled beneath it, glistening darkly in the faint light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling. The corpse was fresh, the eyes still open, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Manon’s stomach lurched. She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.

“Rody,” Vincent’s voice broke the tension, soft and breathless. “Do you think they’ll ever find out?”

Rody laughed, a low, rumbling sound that sent a chill down Manon’s spine. “They won’t. No one’s looking for him anymore.” His voice was calm, almost *bored*.

Vincent smiled lazily, brushing a hand through Rody’s hair. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know,” Rody replied, his tone changing. It was gentler now, softer as he leaned down to kiss Vincent’s lips, briefly but intensely. “You’re everything to me.”

Vincent’s obliviousness was nauseating. How could he be so *blind*? How could he be so in love with a monster?

Manon’s body screamed at her to move, to get away from this nightmare, but she was frozen, paralyzed by the darkness of what she’d just seen.

Rody disposed of people. He *killed* them. And Vincent, the mayor’s son, was too in love with him to even see it. Or maybe, he just didn’t care.

—

Manon wasn’t sure how she managed to make it back to her home. Her legs moved on autopilot, her mind racing with the grotesque images burned into her memory. Rody’s cold, uncaring face as he stood next to the lifeless body. Vincent’s dreamy, infatuated smile as though nothing in the world mattered except Rody.

The town feared Rody for a reason. He wasn’t just some violent thug; he was a predator. He had everyone in his grip, even the mayor, who remained paralyzed in fear of what Rody might do to Vincent if he ever defied him. And Vincent? He was a pawn, a willing one, caught in a web of love and manipulation so thick he could no longer see the truth.

Manon had seen enough. She couldn’t stay here.

She packed that night, her hands shaking as she threw her belongings into her suitcase. The town could keep its secrets, its twisted relationships, and its quiet terror. She wanted no part of it.

As she left, she glanced back toward Rody’s workshop. The light was still on, flickering dimly in the distance. Inside, she knew, Rody and Vincent were together—tangled in something much darker than she could ever comprehend.

And she prayed that, one day, Vincent would wake up from the nightmare he’d mistaken for love.

Manon left town that night, the oppressive air of fear lifting only when the distant lights of the small village faded from her view. But even as the darkness swallowed the crooked streets and the silent buildings, the image of Rody and Vincent remained burned into her mind.

Weeks passed, and Manon struggled to shake the feeling that Rody’s shadow still lingered over her. She told no one about what she saw. How could she? It wasn’t just the fear that kept her silent—it was the knowledge that no one would believe her. The town was under Rody’s control, and even if they knew, they wouldn’t dare lift a finger against him. Not with Vincent so blindly devoted, so caught up in a love that made him deaf and dumb to the horrors around him.

But one night, Manon’s phone buzzed with a message.

*You left suddenly. We miss you in town.*

Her breath hitched. It was from Vincent.

How did he know where she was? Her pulse quickened as her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of how to respond. Did he know what she had seen that night? Did he suspect anything? Or worse… was Rody watching her through Vincent? Controlling him, manipulating him, as easily as he manipulated the rest of the town?

Before she could respond, another message followed:

*Come back. We can have dinner together.*

The words were innocent enough, but they carried a weight that made her stomach twist in knots. *Dinner*. She knew what that meant now. It wasn’t an invitation to share a meal. It was a threat.

Manon ignored the messages, blocking Vincent’s number in a desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the twisted web of lies and violence. But the fear gnawed at her, the knowledge that no matter how far she ran, Rody’s reach could still find her.

—

Meanwhile, in the small town she left behind, Vincent’s life continued as usual. He stayed by Rody’s side, never questioning, never doubting. Rody had become his world—a dark, consuming force that he loved with all of his being.

He didn’t see the way Rody’s grip on the town had tightened, how people disappeared more frequently now, how the townsfolk grew even quieter, more fearful. To Vincent, none of that mattered. Rody loved him, and that was all he needed to know. Rody’s touch, once rough and possessive, had become his comfort. His safety. The rest of the world faded away when Rody was near.

Vincent couldn’t understand why others were so afraid of him. Sure, Rody was strict—*firm*, even—but he had to be, didn’t he? He was protecting the town. Keeping order. Making sure things ran smoothly. Vincent never asked about the people who disappeared. He didn’t want to know. He only knew that when he was with Rody, he felt safe.

And so, Vincent remained blissfully ignorant of the bodies buried deep in the forest, of the blood that stained Rody’s hands. He didn’t question the silences, the cryptic remarks, the nights when Rody returned home late, his clothes dirty and his expression unreadable.

—

One night, Vincent was lying in bed, the soft glow of the moon spilling through the curtains as he waited for Rody to return. The air was heavy, the quiet of the town almost suffocating. He heard the door creak open and smiled, sitting up as Rody stepped into the room.

“There you are,” Vincent said, his voice soft, filled with affection. “I was wondering when you’d get home.”

Rody didn’t respond immediately. His green eyes, usually so intense, flickered with something unreadable as he undressed, tossing his dirty shirt to the floor. Vincent noticed a stain on the fabric but said nothing. He never asked questions like that. He trusted Rody, after all.

Climbing into bed, Rody wrapped an arm around Vincent, pulling him close. Vincent melted into the embrace, his heart swelling with love for the man who had become his everything.

“Rody,” Vincent murmured, his voice laced with sleep. “You know I love you, right?”

Rody’s hand traced along Vincent’s back, his touch almost too gentle for someone who wielded such violence. “Yeah, I know,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

Vincent smiled, nestling his head against Rody’s chest. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’d do anything for you.”

Rody didn’t respond, but Vincent didn’t notice. His eyes fluttered shut, sleep pulling him under. He didn’t see the way Rody stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind far away.

As Vincent drifted off, Rody’s grip tightened around him, possessive and unyielding.

In the darkness, Rody’s thoughts swirled. He knew Vincent loved him—*truly* loved him. But what would happen if Vincent ever found out the truth? If he ever saw the things Rody had done, the bodies buried deep in the woods, the people who had been *disposed of* for daring to cross him?

Would Vincent still look at him with that same soft devotion? Or would that love turn to fear, to disgust?

Rody couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

As long as Vincent remained oblivious, as long as he stayed wrapped up in the love Rody gave him, they would be fine. They would stay together. And Rody would keep Vincent safe—no matter what it took.

And if anyone tried to take Vincent away from him, they’d meet the same fate as the others.

Because in this town, Rody was in control. He always had been. And as long as Vincent was his, nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

—

Far away, in another town, Manon dreamed of the blood-soaked workshop and the empty, vacant stare of the dead man in the corner. Even in her new life, the darkness of that place haunted her. She had escaped, yes—but she knew, deep down, that as long as Vincent remained in Rody’s grasp, the town would never truly be free.

And neither would she.

A/N
It might be a bit confusing so I’ll explain it a bit. Vincent thinks Rody kills people who want to harm the town. Rody doesn’t want Vincent to find out his true intentions on why he kills people. Manon thinks Vincent is in on every murder Rody has committed (that’s not true) and that Vincent is threatening her (he’s not). Also yes I did use the word demure I swear that word existed before the “mindful demure” trend.