Dead Plate Oneshots The Man In The Elevator

Inspired by the Korean urban legend of the same name

Rody Lamoree had a routine. He always picked his marks carefully—unassuming, quiet, easy to corner. And tonight was no different, except maybe for the flutter of excitement in his chest as he stepped into the elevator of a high-rise apartment building in the heart of the city. There was something electric about the chase, something thrilling about the idea that, up here, no one could hear them scream.

As the elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, Rody glanced at the panel, pressing the button for the top floor. He’d been following his latest target for a few days now, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Tonight was it.

The scent of his leather jacket mixed with the stale air of the elevator. Rody leaned back against the mirrored wall, his reflection catching his eye for a moment. His green eyes were sharp, his auburn hair tousled just the right way. He was always careful to look approachable, attractive even. That’s what made it easy. No one suspected the handsome man in the elevator.

The elevator dinged on the fifth floor, and Rody straightened up, his pulse quickening. His target was here. He had spotted them earlier, entering the building—the slender figure with dark hair, wrapped in an oversized coat. A woman, he thought. She had to be.

The doors slid open, and there stood the person he had been waiting for. Dark hair, pale skin, dressed in black from head to toe. But as they stepped into the elevator, Rody froze.

It wasn’t a woman. It was a man.

Rody’s heart skipped a beat, confusion flashing through his mind. The man—Vincent, his mind supplied, recalling the name from the mail slot he’d observed—was striking in a way Rody hadn’t anticipated. His dark eyes, framed by neat glasses, were sharp and intelligent. His features were delicate, almost ethereal, yet undeniably masculine.

For a split second, Rody hesitated. He had never gone after a man before. His usual game—charming, alluring, leading them to their demise—didn’t seem to fit this scenario. But something about Vincent drew him in. There was an air of quiet vulnerability around him, something Rody hadn’t expected. And yet, behind it, Rody could sense a darkness that intrigued him.

The elevator doors slid shut, trapping them together in the small, confined space.

Vincent moved to the side, his gaze focused on the floor buttons as if he wasn’t even aware of Rody’s presence. He pressed a button for the seventh floor, then folded his arms, his posture relaxed, but his expression distant, almost tired.

Rody smirked to himself. This could still work.

He took a step closer, just enough to catch Vincent’s attention. “Late night?” His voice was casual, smooth, with the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Vincent glanced up, his dark eyes meeting Rody’s for the first time. There was no hint of fear or suspicion, just a brief moment of acknowledgment before he returned his gaze to the doors.

“Yeah,” Vincent said softly, his voice low and quiet. “Long day.”

Rody’s smirk deepened. There was something so… delicate about Vincent. He was small, unassuming, and there was a fragility in the way he stood that made Rody’s blood hum with the thrill of what was to come. He didn’t care if this wasn’t the woman he had planned to take. Vincent was something else entirely.

The elevator continued its slow ascent, the numbers lighting up one by one. Each second felt like it stretched on forever, and Rody could feel the anticipation building in his chest. He could feel the weight of the knife tucked in his jacket, the familiar chill of steel pressing against his side.

But there was something about this moment—something about Vincent’s quiet, calm demeanor that made Rody want to draw it out. He wanted to see if Vincent would crack, to see if the fear would flicker in his eyes. He wanted to watch him squirm.

“You live here long?” Rody asked, his tone casual but his eyes locked onto Vincent’s profile, studying every little detail—the way his glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed.

Vincent hesitated for a moment before replying. “A few years.”

Rody took another step closer, moving to stand beside him. The proximity was almost suffocating, but Vincent didn’t flinch. He didn’t move away, didn’t show any sign of discomfort.

“I’ve never seen you around before,” Rody said, his voice lowering just a touch, more intimate now. “But I guess it’s a big building.”

Vincent turned to look at him fully then, his expression still calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. “Yeah, I tend to keep to myself.”

Rody chuckled softly. “That’s probably smart. You never know who you’ll run into.”

There was a pause, the air in the elevator growing thick with tension. Rody’s heart raced, but his face remained calm, his smile soft and inviting. Vincent glanced at the floor numbers again—they were approaching the seventh floor now, his stop.

Rody couldn’t let him leave. Not yet.

As the elevator slowed, Rody moved quickly, stepping in front of the control panel and pressing the emergency stop button. The elevator jolted to a halt, and the lights flickered for a moment, casting strange shadows across Vincent’s face.

Vincent blinked, looking up at Rody with confusion, but still no fear. “What are you doing?”

Rody’s smile didn’t falter as he closed the distance between them, pressing Vincent gently against the mirrored wall. His hand brushed Vincent’s cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

“I think you know,” Rody whispered, his voice low, almost tender.

For the first time, Vincent’s calm facade cracked. His eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching in his throat as he stared up at Rody.

“Please,” Vincent’s voice was barely a whisper, but there was no fight in him, no resistance. Just quiet resignation.

Rody’s heart pounded in his chest. He had seen this before—the moment when they realized there was no escape, the moment when they accepted their fate. But there was something different about Vincent, something that made Rody’s hands tremble with anticipation.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Vincent’s ear as he whispered, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Vincent shuddered under his touch, his breath coming in shallow gasps now. “Don’t…”

Rody’s smile widened as he pulled back slightly, his green eyes locking onto Vincent’s dark, pleading gaze. “Don’t what? Don’t hurt you?” He chuckled softly, the sound cold and cruel. “It’s too late for that.”

Vincent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Rody felt the familiar thrill surge through him. This was it—the moment he had been waiting for.

Slowly, he reached into his jacket, his fingers brushing against the cool handle of the knife. His pulse quickened as he pulled it out, the blade catching the dim light of the elevator.

Vincent’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking to the knife, but he still didn’t fight. He didn’t scream. He just stared at Rody with that same haunting, resigned look.

Rody pressed the blade against Vincent’s throat, his heart racing as he felt the warmth of Vincent’s skin under the cold steel. He could feel Vincent’s pulse, rapid and frantic, beneath his fingertips.

“Why aren’t you fighting?” Rody whispered, his voice low and rough with excitement.

Vincent’s lips trembled as he spoke, his voice barely audible. “Because… I know you’ll do it anyway.”

Rody’s breath caught in his throat. There was no fear in Vincent’s eyes—only a quiet, broken acceptance that sent a shiver down Rody’s spine.

For a moment, Rody hesitated. He stared down at Vincent, at the delicate curve of his neck, the way his dark hair framed his pale face. He could end it now, with just a flick of his wrist.

But something about Vincent’s calm, his beauty, made Rody want to savor it. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Vincent’s cheek as he whispered, “You’re right.”

And with one swift, practiced motion, he slid the knife across Vincent’s throat.

The warmth of Vincent’s blood spilled over Rody’s hands, staining the floor of the elevator as Vincent gasped, his body trembling for a brief moment before going still.

Rody stepped back, watching as Vincent crumpled to the floor, his dark eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. There was no fear in them, no pain. Only the quiet, haunting beauty of a man who had accepted his fate long before Rody had made his move.

Rody wiped the blood from his hands, his heart still racing as he stared down at Vincent’s lifeless body. There was a strange sense of calm now, a quiet satisfaction that settled over him.

Vincent had been different—beautiful, captivating in a way none of the others had been. But in the end, they all ended up the same.

And as the elevator resumed its ascent, Rody knew he would be back. There were always more elevators, more unsuspecting souls.