The Locker Room That Shouldn’t Exist

 

Alicia Rivera had wrestled in nearly every indie circuit across Ohio, but the gig in Cleveland was different. The flyer simply read: “One Night Only – Winner Gets a Shot at TV Debut”.

She didn’t hesitate. She needed the spotlight.

The venue was an old warehouse turned underground wrestling arena. Dusty bleachers. Dim lights. A crowd rowdy enough to chant before the bell even rang.

But what caught Alicia’s eye wasn’t the crowd or her opponent—it was the hallway behind the ring. A hallway that none of the other wrestlers seemed to notice.

The promoter, a man named Griggs with nicotine-stained fingers, handed her a folded map and whispered, “You’ll be in Locker Room 13.”

She frowned. “Aren’t the rooms numbered up to 10?”

Griggs gave her a strange grin. “It just opened up. You’ll see.”

Alicia followed the map. Past the catering table. Down a concrete hallway. The air got colder, thicker. The laughter and sounds of the ring faded behind her.

Locker Room 13 stood at the end of a dark corridor. The number was carved into the door like it had been scratched in with fingernails.

Inside, the room was spotless. New bench. Clean mirror. A locker with her name already stenciled on it.

She blinked. No one had asked for her full name.

She sat down, laced her boots, and glanced in the mirror—only to freeze.

In the reflection, her face was bruised. Bloody. A gash above her eyebrow.

But her face in real life was untouched.

She spun around. Empty.

Back to the mirror—now it was blank, like it had fogged up.

A whisper echoed from inside the locker: “Don’t go out there, Alicia.”

She stepped back. Her heart slammed against her chest.

She opened the locker slowly—nothing inside. But carved into the back wall were names. Dozens. All wrestlers she’d seen vanish from the indie scene in the last two years.

Kayla Storm. Jax King. Miguel Cruz.

Now her name was there too—Alicia Rivera, freshly etched, still glistening as if done moments ago.

Suddenly, the PA system cracked: “ALICIA RIVERA TO THE RING.”

She stepped out of the room. The hallway was different. Longer. No signs. No exit.

She ran. Each step echoed louder than the last.

The hallway turned. Twisted. She opened one door—backstage area. The crowd roared, but something was off.

The ring was lit in red. Her opponent stood inside—a masked wrestler with jet-black gear and glowing white eyes.

No one in the crowd had a face. Just shadows, cheering soundlessly.

Griggs stood at ringside with a stopwatch. He nodded once.

“This is your trial match,” he whispered.

Alicia climbed into the ring. The masked wrestler didn’t move.

Suddenly—he lunged. The speed. The strength. Unreal.

She fought hard. Kicks, elbows, slams. But it was like fighting a shadow that never tired.

Then she saw it—tattoos on his arm. Tattoos she’d seen before. On Miguel Cruz.

“This can’t be real,” she gasped.

The figure growled, “You took our place.”

She dropped to her knees. “What are you talking about?”

The crowd’s chants turned into a low chant: “One stays. One vanishes.”

Griggs raised the stopwatch. “One minute left.”

The masked figure stepped back. Tossed her a chair.

“You win… if you do what the last one couldn’t.”

She understood. She was being asked to destroy him—to take his place, or he’d take hers.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m not playing this game.”

She dropped the chair.

The crowd screamed—faces melting into skulls. The lights exploded. Griggs vanished.

The masked figure paused. Then slowly nodded.

“Then you’re the first.”

Alicia collapsed. Everything went black.

When she woke, she was outside the venue. Morning light pierced through.

Her gear was gone. The warehouse looked abandoned. No sign of a show.

She rushed to check her phone. New message:

“You survived the match. Never return. Locker Room 13 is closed.”

She searched online for the names she saw carved in the locker. Still missing.

A week later, she debuted on live TV—signed by a major promotion out of nowhere.

But sometimes, when she passes a mirror before matches—she sees that locker.

And behind her… the masked figure, still waiting.