The Curious Case of the Dr. Pepper Peeps

It all started with a dare.

It all started with a dare.
Not the normal kind like eat a spoonful of cinnamon or text your crush something weird. This one involved a half-empty can of Dr. Pepper, a mysterious bag of Peeps, and a haunted vending machine behind the school gym.

“Double dog dare you,” Milo said, holding up the squishy marshmallow creature with a smirk.

“It’s just a Peep,” I said, shrugging, though it looked off. The sugary chick was an odd shade of reddish brown, like it had been dyed in soda instead of sugar. The label read “Limited Edition: Dr. Pepper Peeps.”

No one believed it was haunted. The vending machine, I mean. Old man Rosco from the maintenance team said it was cursed. Something about a prank gone wrong in 1987 and a janitor disappearing. Classic.

But all I could think was, who actually makes Dr. Pepper flavored marshmallows?

“Eat it in front of the machine,” Milo grinned. “At midnight.”

So that’s how I ended up outside in my pajamas, flashlight tucked under my chin like some wannabe ghost hunter, staring down a dusty old vending machine with flickering lights. A perfect horror movie setup.

I unwrapped the Peep slowly. It smelled just like Dr. Pepper, warm cola with that strange mix of 23 flavors. I gave it a sniff and made the mistake of licking it.

Zing.

It tasted like static electricity had zapped my tongue - with cherry.

Before I could chicken out, I tossed the whole thing in my mouth.

Nothing happened.

At first.

Then the vending machine buzzed. I jumped back. A deep, syrupy gurgle echoed from within it like a burp from some forgotten soda beast. The glass shimmered, fogging up like it had started to breathe.

“Okay, nope,” I muttered, turning to run.
But found myself frozen.

The machine lit up. Its buttons rearranged themselves with mechanical clicking until they spelled:
"WELCOME, PEPPERHEAD."

The world tilted. My flashlight clattered to the pavement.

And just like that, I was inside the machine.

Everything around me was red and bubbly. I floated, not in water, but in fizz. Dozens of candy colored marshmallow Peeps stared back at me, blinking with sugar crusted eyes.

“Finally,” one of them said, in a deep, cola fizzed voice. “A new candidate.”

“Candidate for what?” I coughed, blinking away carbonation.

“To become one of us,” said another Peep, this one with little glasses and a clipboard. “We are the Dr. Pepper Peeps. We are the guardians of flavor, keepers of the fizz.”

“That’s not a real thing,” I said, trying not to panic. “You’re candy. Candy can’t talk.”

“Neither can vending machines,” the clipboard one replied. “But here we are.”

The leader, a larger Peep with a fizzy crown, floated closer. “The balance of soda and sugar is in danger. Artificial grape has been trying to take over the flavor realm. We need someone brave enough to journey into the Bubbly Beyond.”

“Why me?” I asked.

“You dared the bite,” he said. “Now you must sip the destiny.”

That sounded ridiculous, but before I could argue, they opened a hidden panel in the wall made of clear candy canes. I got pulled into a swirling soda portal.

The Bubbly Beyond looked like a candyland on a soda high. Mountains of Pop Rocks, rivers of cola, clouds of cotton candy. But above it all floated a grape colored storm, crackling with artificial doom.

I had to stop it.

The Peeps handed me a fizzy sword made of hard taffy and told me to find the Grapezilla, the monster trying to replace every soda flavor with his own artificial empire.

I won’t lie. I thought I was dreaming. But the sword was sticky. The danger felt real.

And Grapezilla? Yeah, he was real too.

A massive blob of wrinkly grape jelly rose over the horizon, shouting, “I AM THE ONLY FLAVOR NOW!”

“Over my sweet and spicy marshmallow body!” I yelled.

I charged, sword swinging, dodging exploding gumballs and soda spray. I slashed, jabbed, and even got stuck once in a glob of purple goo.

But the moment I popped a Dr. Pepper Peep into his mouth, something changed.

He paused.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

“...That’s actually kinda good,” he muttered.

His goo began to lose color, fizzing away like old soda. And just like that, the skies cleared. Balance was restored.

When I woke up, I was on the ground behind the gym, flashlight in hand. The vending machine was silent.

In my pocket?

One last Dr. Pepper Peep.

I never told Milo what happened. But I’ve noticed something strange ever since. Every time I pass that vending machine, one button flickers softly.

The one that now reads:

“FLAVOR GUARD.”

And sometimes, just sometimes, I swear I hear a tiny sugary voice whisper,

“Pepperhead for life.”

Word Count -799