Slamhouse Seduction: The Curse of Locker 13

 

The boiler’s relentless hiss seeped through the locker room walls like a living beast struggling to breathe. Scarlet Steele stood alone, the faint glow of red emergency lights casting flickering shadows over her soaked crimson hair. The black-and-red tape wrapped tightly around her wrists seemed almost ceremonial after the brutal debut match she’d just endured. Her eyes locked onto the cracked mirror before her, steadying her breath—slow, measured, full of unspoken resolve.

The door creaked open behind her.

She didn’t flinch.

“You fight like you’ve bled here before,” came a voice—deep, rough, yet smooth as silk.

Scarlet’s gaze shifted just enough to catch his reflection alongside hers. In the dim light stood Rafe Maddox, SlamHouse Wrestling’s dark prince—a man whose very name sent ripples through the locker room. Broad-shouldered, towel draped casually around his neck, sweat glistening on every chiseled line of his torso. Known for fights that left rivals broken and fans begging for more.

“I watched your match,” he said, stepping closer. “You took three gut kicks—and you smiled. Not many can do that.”

“I’m not like most,” Scarlet replied coolly. “I’m just overdue.”

He chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “This place… it devours people like you. Pretty. Talented. Hungry.”

Scarlet met his gaze, unwavering. “Then maybe I’ll devour it right back.”

For a moment, the silence stretched. Then Rafe closed the distance between them, heat radiating off him—not just from the fight. The air itself shifted.

The boiler hissed louder, then screamed like a tortured soul.

Scarlet snapped her head toward the locker room door. Rafe’s muscles tensed, ready. The overhead lights flickered—once, twice—and then exploded, plunging the room into a deep red glow.

“What the hell…” Rafe whispered, retreating toward the lockers.

Scarlet stepped forward.

The cracked mirror no longer reflected her. Instead, it showed a distorted version of the room: chains dangling from the ceiling, rusted metal, decay. Her reflection stood there, grinning maliciously. Blood dripped down its chest. From its abdomen, a second face blinked and whispered.

“She’s coming.”

Scarlet stumbled back. “What is this? Some kind of sick joke?”

But Rafe wasn’t watching her anymore. His eyes were fixed on the lockers.

One rattled violently. The metal bent outward, as if something clawed to escape.

“Who’s inside?” Scarlet asked, heart pounding.

“Nobody’s been assigned locker 13 for years,” Rafe said quietly. “Not since Ember Vyx…”

The name hit Scarlet like a punch. Ember—her sister.

Dead in a backstage pyrotechnics accident.

Or so they said.

Scarlet reached for the locker handle.

Rafe grabbed her wrist, urgency sharp in his voice. “Don’t. That locker… it’s more than just a locker. It’s where they buried her gear. The cursed Inferno Locker.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’m here to finish what she started.”

With a sudden jerk, Scarlet flung the locker open.

A thick plume of smoke hissed out, curling around her. Inside lay Ember’s wrestling gear—scorched, yet intact—the same black-and-red flame pattern. Scarlet’s fingers brushed the fabric, and the room pulsed with heat, the red glow deepening to a fierce blood color.

Behind her, the door slammed shut.

When she spun around, Rafe was gone.

But the mirror showed him—pinned to the wall by invisible force, his throat exposed, eyes wide with terror.

Scarlet clenched her fists. The gear inside the locker wasn’t cold—it radiated heat, almost alive.

A whisper brushed her ear. “Wear it.”

She should have run.

But instead, she stripped off her soaked gear and slipped into Ember’s suit—piece by piece.

As the last strap tightened, the air exploded with heat. Flames licked the ceiling, yet Scarlet didn’t burn.

She became fire incarnate.

Turning slowly, Scarlet faced the mirror.

She was no longer alone.

Behind her stood Ember. Not a ghost, but something beyond human. Her porcelain face cracked, eyes glowing like embers.

“SlamHouse tried to bury us,” Ember said, voice low and fierce. “But fire… fire doesn’t stay buried.”

A fierce smirk curved Scarlet’s lips.

“Then let’s burn this place to the ground.”