There’s a vending machine on campus that doesn’t just dispense soda and snacks.

It sits in the basement of Fowler Hall, even though the laundry machines were moved upstairs years ago. All the other ones have been updated into sleek, futuristic models—but not this one. It looks like it was plucked right out of the ‘90s, with its smudged glass display and silver coils holding snacks. Its red sign glows brightly in the darkness, through the musty haze, simply reading: REFRESHMENTS.

To be honest, I didn’t really believe the urban legends surrounding the thing. But I work for the campus newspaper, and for Halloween, I got assigned to write this stupid fluff piece about it.

The most popular legend about it goes like this: on a dark and stormy night, a sociology major went down into the basement of Fowler, craving an ice-cold bottle of coke. But when he got it out of the machine, he realized it wasn’t filled with the sugary delight he so craved—but a murky, red-brown sludge!

The story diverges from there. Some say he drank it and died. Others say he turned it into the police, and it matched the remains of a local missing woman. Still others say the bottle cursed him, and he went on an all-out murder spree that miraculously wasn’t covered by a single news outlet…

Yeah. You see where I’m going with this.

There are other stories that follow a similar theme. A junior pressed the button for pretzels and got a human finger. Or she got a cursed knife, and cut off somebody’s finger. Or her own finger got cut off when she pushed the flap to retrieve her drink. It depends on who you asked—everyone tells a different version. There are even a few stories that diverge from the whole murdery thing. Some CS majors told me if you pressed a certain code into the keypad, the vending machine would slide away and reveal a secret room. Of course, none of them could decide on what the code actually was…

Yeah. I didn’t believe any of this shit for a second.

My final bit of research, though, was to actually go down there and use it myself. So there I was, standing outside of Fowler Hall a little past ten PM, coins jingling in my pockets.

“So what do you think you’ll get?” Breanna asked me.

She worked on the newspaper with me—and believed all the stories. Apparently one of her sorority sisters knew the girl who got the finger. Or lost her finger. Or whatever. “I think I’ll get a nice, refreshing root beer,” I replied with a smile. Then I cupped my hand over my mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t say that. It can hear us, right?”

Breanna rolled her eyes. “Come on. That stuff really did happen. Yeah, some people exaggerated it and it kinda snowballed into an urban legend, but that girl really did lose her finger.”

Honestly, of all the stories I’d heard, that was the only one that sounded like it could be true. Sticking your hand in a thirty-year-old machine that’s all rusted up and half-broken… I don’t think she lost her finger, but she probably got a bad cut and had to get a tetanus booster or something.

But then we rounded the corner.

And I couldn’t help the chill that tingled down my spine.

It didn’t match the other students’ descriptions at all. It wasn’t all rusted and dented and broken, with 20-year-old potato chips in it. Far from it. In fact, it seemed like the only thing that was cleaned regularly in this entire basement. The REFRESHMENTS lettering glowed brightly; the snacks and drinks were perfectly nestled in their steel coils, not one of them askew. The boxes and chairs surrounding it were covered in a thick film of dust, but the vending machine sparkled.

Even though this basement was an abandoned storage area, someone had been cleaning the machine—regularly.

I stepped right up to the glass. On the other side was a perfectly normal assortment of drinks and snacks: potato chips, Oreos, Cheetos, chocolate bars, and a line of sodas on the bottom. As my eyes hit the root beer, my stomach did a little flip.

I drank that brand of root beer. So I was all too familiar with the advertisement on the wrapper, the one with the stylized Dracula, offering a chance to win free Six Flags tickets.

That was from Halloween, this year.

Someone had restocked this machine. Recently.

“Who’s restocking this thing?” I whispered, leaning so close to the glass that I could see my own reflection. “I thought nobody came down here.”

“Maybe the janitor?”

I glanced at the clumps of dust sticking to the feet of the machine, the row of folding chairs leaning askew. “I don’t think they really come down here.”

“Well, are you going to get something?” Breanna cocked an eyebrow at me. “Or are you scared?”

“Of course I’m not scared.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out seven quarters. $1.75. Then I plunked each one into the coin slot. Clink, clang, clack. I listened to each one clink deep inside the machine.

Then I slowly lifted my finger up to the keypad and pressed F6.

The machine rumbled softly. My eyes shot to the coil, slowly unwinding to let the root beer fall. I watched that stupid stylized Dracula face as the bottle teetered on the edge—and then plunged into the bin below.

Thump.

I stood, frozen. Staring at the little black flap. At the four letters engraved in the plastic, P U S H.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m thinking,” I snapped back.

“You’re scared.” She let out a giggle.

“No. I’m not. I’m just…” I shook my head. “Whatever.”

I crouched down, until the flap was nearly at eye level. Then I reached out—and pushed my hand through the flap.

The metal interior was cold against my skin. I felt around, reaching for the bottle. Huh. Where is it? My heart beat faster as my fingers stretched out against all the sides. I didn’t believe those legends, but I also didn’t like blindly groping around in this little metal box. What if there was like, a dead mouse in there? Or something sharp?

I reached in further—

And froze.

Something touched me. Oh, God, something touched me. I yanked my hand out, the PUSH flap swinging in the darkness, backing away from the machine—

“There a problem?”

“S-something touched me.”

“Oh, so now you believe the stories, huh?”

“I—”

“I’ll get it for you.” Before I could stop her, Breanna crouched down. Stuck her hand in. Rooted around. “Ah, found it. Right th—”

She let out a howl.

“Breanna!” I screamed, rushing over.

She tried to pull her hand out. Tried to back away. “It’s—it’s stuck,” she cried. “Help me.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist and tried to pull her back. But she was right—something was holding her in place. Or—oh, God—someone? I dug my heels into the carpet, pulling with all my strength. But she didn’t budge. I glanced at her arm—the flap was nearly at her elbow now, like something was pulling her in—

And then I heard laughter.

The blood drained out of my face. The shadows shifted in the murky hallway, and then two of my classmates stepped out from behind the vending machine.

“The look on your face,” Tori wheezed through giggles.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” Allison added.

I opened my mouth. But no words came out. I worked my jaw, glancing at each of their faces. Even Breanna was in hysterics now.

“Why… why would you do that?” I asked, finally, in a weak voice.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a prank,” Breanna said. “And now you’ve got something to write about.”

“You’re not mad, are you?” Allison asked, with fake concern.

Hot tears were welling in my eyes. But I blinked them away. How could I be so stupid? A cursed vending machine, really? All the people who told me those stories… they must’ve been in on it, too. I should’ve known joining the newspaper was a bad idea. Half the team were mean-girl types, in Phi Gamma whatever. Of course they would do something like this.

Bitches.

“Of course I’m not mad,” I said, plastering on a fake smile. “That was really funny. You totally had me.”

Disappointment flickered across Breanna’s face. Then she quickly recovered. “Well, we need to get going if we’re going to make it to Charles’s party,” she said. “You coming with?”

I shook my head.

I watched as the three of them—tall, blonde, almost comically Barbie-like—walked back down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

Then it was just me and the vending machine.

I poked my head around the back. The lock on the back door was rusted and mangled; probably didn’t even work. The cavity where the drinks would fall out opened up back here, too—which is how one of them leaned in to grab Breanna’s hand. The root beer I’d paid for sat forgotten on the ground.

I leaned over and picked it up.

I walked back into the hallway and sat down on the floor. Twisted the cap off, listened to the hiss of air escaping. The red glow of the REFRESHMENTS sign spilled out onto the dusty carpet.

Tears fell from my cheeks as I lifted the bottle to my lips.

But as soon as the root beer hit my tongue, I realized something was wrong.

A soft thump sounded from the machine. Too soft, too metallic, to be a bottle of soda or a bag of chips. I slowly got up, walked over to it.

The rows of chips and sodas stood perfectly still. Untouched. I crouched down, in front of the flap, my fingers hesitating in mid-air. I glanced up at the sign, the red light spilling onto my face, onto my tears.

I pushed my hand inside.

Unlike the first time, I found it immediately.

It was a small envelope. Nothing written on either side. I flipped it over in my hands—then opened it and slipped out its contents.

Three photographs.

I recognized the faces immediately. Breanna. Tori. Allison. But each photo showed them in a compromising position. Breanna making out with a guy who wasn’t her boyfriend. Tori smoking something out of a bong. Allison… well, before plastic surgery made her into the Allison I knew.

I looked up at the machine and smiled.

Apparently, the rumors are true—

There is something very, very special about the vending machine in the basement of Fowler Hall.