The SCP Experience - “DIET GHOST! SCARE YOUR THIRST!” | SCP-2107

Episode Date: March 22, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-2107: “DIET GHOST! SCARE YOUR THIRST!” This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2107 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Cyrus Spears * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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$1B1-B1-Bus Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. DePosososos $10. conditions apply. Diet ghost scare your thirst. The bright blue can with the cartoon ghost painted on the side was the first thing Jamie saw when he walked in for his evening shift.

He stopped in front of the gas station counter and stared at it. Gimicky energy drinks were far from an anomaly around where he worked. He noticed that Eric, his co-worker, was ripping open a stack of boxes. There was a new display rack in the shape of a white ghost, which meant they would be spending all of their downtime, putting new drinks on the display, and then shoving the rest in the coolers and in the storage room. I should have called in sick, Jamie grumbled. The best part is that we have to move around all the other displays to make it work, too.

Eric waved his box cutter in the air. Do me a favor, will you? Take this and slit my throat open with it. In a way, Jamie snorted. I wouldn't take any of your shifts. You'd have to come in dead. They would try to make me, Eric muttered. I wasn't even supposed to come in tonight, but Carl begged me.

I bet he did. On his hands and knees, Jamie rolled his head around his shoulders. There was a bubble of tension in his neck that he could not pop out. Well, let me clock in. How has it been today? Not busy, Eric lifted one of the cans. He pressed his finger against a little green bubble that was right beside the card ghost's head.

Look at this. It says, Made with natural ghosts. This has to be a joke. Sounds like you'll become a ghost if you pound one of those things. Jamie set his bag down behind the counter and took off his jacket. He slipped his name tag over his head and then punched in on the monitor. True to form of just about every Wednesday night,

as soon as he clocked in, there was a flood of customers who all needed gas and some sort of red-hot pickle to sustain them until they got home. Eric jumped behind the counter and they worked to ring everyone up. After the last customer trickled out, Jamie picked up one of the open cases and started walking towards the cooler. I'm going to put these in here, he said. Then I'll help you fuck around with the display. Sure thing.

Eric said a few more of the cans out on the counter. This shit is weird. It doesn't even look real. Do your cans have any nutritional facts or anything? Um... Jamie pulled one of the cans out of his box and turned it around in his hand. No, he said.

It doesn't look like it. It could be some kind of factory mistake. Sure, Eric said. But aren't those required by the FDA? Maybe, Jamie shrugged. But they're here. You've got a barcode. And I don't feel like calling Carl to ask him about it.

Do you? Eric thought about it and then shook his head. Nah, he said. I don't get paid enough to make it my problem. Neither do I. Jamie pulled out three more cans. Let's just get it done. 7 p.m. turned into 11 p.m. in the blink of an eye,

and there was still a lot of the shift left before Dawn cracked across the sky, and Marina came in to relieve them both. Jamie slouched in his chair behind the counter, digging his heels into the rubber mat and rocking his seat back on its shaky metal legs. Eric sat on the counter next to him, half hidden behind a lottery ticket display, and hunched over a wrinkled notebook. He had been scribbling over the same drawing for the better part of the last hour, and there was blue ink smudged all over his fingertips. They really don't need two of us for this, Jamie finally said. It's always dead between midnight and five.

It's just in case someone stumbles in and decides to rob the place, Eric said without lifting his head. You weren't working here yet, but the same. that happened. I've heard, Jamie said. You've told me the story a couple dozen times. Guy came in with a baseball bat, Eric interrupted, completely bludgeoned the kid working behind the counter. His skull was in three pieces when they found him the next day. He didn't stand a chance, and he was only 17. And they never caught the guy either. He busted all the security cameras. Sheesh, Jamie shook his head. He rubbed his face, digging his fingers under the corners of his eyes to try and revive himself.

I'm going to pass out. You could try a diet ghost, Eric grinned and wiggled his fingers. You know, since we are on the topic. Oh, sure, Jamie rolled his eyes. Made with all natural ghosts, right? I don't know what that means. They could put cocaine in it for all we know.

Shit, Eric said. I would buy them all if I thought that was the case. He leaned over the counter and picked up an extra a glass of a car that was sitting near the lottery ticket display. Ring me up for it, he said, already popping the tab. I'm going to try it. It's warm, Jamie made a face. Yeah, but you're boring me to death, Eric grinned.

I'm falling asleep just sitting here. The tab hissed when he pushed the aluminum cut out down. Eric held the opening up to his nose, sniffing, and then rubbing at his nostrils before taking a big gulp. He paused and considered the taste, leaning his head to the left and then to the right before taking another swig. It's not bad, Eric held out the can to Jamie. Want to try it? No thanks.

Jamie held up a hand. Warm soda? I don't do that. It's kind of like blue raspberry. Eric licked his lips. But it has a weird aftertaste. Maybe it doesn't have any sugar? He turned the can over in his hand.

Sure wish we knew. Would be great if there were some sort of nutritional facts stamped on here. Maybe it's an invisible ink, Jamie rolled his eyes. Maybe you can only read it if you're a ghost. Couldn't that be something? Eric asked. He settled back down in his space on the counter. You've got a customer.

He sipped again. The clock struck midnight. Jamie was going to go crazy. I need a smoke break, he said. It was probably his 11th one since. clocking in, but he knew that Eric didn't care. His coworker didn't respond, so Jamie rifled through his jacket pockets and pulled out his crumpled pack of cigarettes before trying again to get his attention.

Hey Eric! He faced his coworker and held up the cigarettes. Smoke break. When he met Eric's eyes, he realized his coworker was already staring straight at him. Goose bumps popped up on Jamie's arms. There was nothing on Eric's face. It was like he called him and had been sent straight. straight to voicemail with a sorry Eric isn't home.

Eric's eyelids were peeled so far back that his eyeballs looked like they were bulging right out of his sockets, and his mouth was hanging open in a way that made him look like a gaping coy fish in a pond outside of a sushi restaurant. Jamie slipped his arms through his jacket and clenched the filter of a cigarette between his teeth. His jacket felt a little heavier than usual, but he didn't dwell on it.

He did not want to take his eyes off Eric. There was something roiling in his gut that told him he shouldn't. The peeling skin on Eric's lips was blue, bright, sugary blue. Whatever was in the energy drink had sent him to outer space. Jamie edged out from behind the counter and walked towards the door. Only when the cool air hit his face did he feel safe. He let the door swing shut behind him, and he lit his cigarette, sucking down a stream of tobacco smoke and letting it burn his lungs.

Jamie exhaled his relief and leaned against the gas station wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He took another drag from his cigarette, and all the anxiety began to wash away as fast as it had come. A customer walked up to the door. Jamie nodded at him, but did not budge from his spot. He was on break. Eric could handle it.

Jamie finished one cigarette and pitched the filter towards the ground. He reached for another, and then something crashed inside. Jamie straightened immediately and turned around, peering through the glass doors to try and see what was going on. His hands were already fumbling through his pockets, trying to find a cell phone. He was ready to dial 911 if he had to. His fingertips clanked against something heavy, but it wasn't his phone. It was an aluminum can. Jamie wrapped his hand around the can and tugged it free.

It was bright blue with a picture of a card. ghost on the side, and the picture glowed in the dark. He didn't know how it had gotten into his jacket. He hadn't put it there. Jamie threw the can down and it hit the sidewalk, but it didn't burst like he thought it would. There was a sizable dent, warping the ghost, and it rolled over onto its side so that the ghost was staring right up at him with empty eyes and a wide, grinning mouth. Another deafening crash reverberated from inside the store. Jamie's attention snapped back to the scene.

The customer who had walked in only seconds before was staggering towards the door. He tripped on the Diet Ghost display and fell. His face contorting in pain when his knees hit the hard floor. He kept crawling and his hands left rusty red streaks against the white ground. The display wobbled and a few cans fell. They burst, unlike Jamie's can, and sprayed foamy blue soda like a fountain over the crawling man.

The customer cringed and put his hands over his head. His dark hair was matted and wet, with more rusty red and sugary blue streaking down his face. He looked up and caught sight of Jamie. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he reached out, silently begging for help. He looked just like the ghost on the dented can. Jamie grabbed the door handle, his heart slamming into his ribs. Where the hell was Eric? How had everything gone to shit in under two minutes?

What was happening? Jamie pulled the door open, and then Eric appeared. It was as if he had been summoned by every single one of Jamie's racing, terrified thoughts. He stood behind the fallen man, legs spread so wide that he looked like he was in danger of splitting in half. He had his hands wrapped around the handle of a broken wooden broom handle, and he was wielding it like a club. There was enough blood on his face to obscure everything except for his eyes. They still bulged from his sockets, popping out like a little.

like his throat was being squeezed, like they were in danger of falling to the floor and rolling away. He was grinding his teeth so hard that he had bitten through his lip and the bottom teeth were stuck in the spongy flesh. Blood ran down his chin, and when he tried to speak, everything was muffled. Jamie stood frozen in the doorway. The fallen customer was still reaching out desperately,

one hand outstretched and begging for help. Jamie could not take his eyes off Eric, who was standing there like a maniac, while Moore Diet Ghost fell from its display and burst open, spraying foam into the air. Jamie! Eric sounded like he was trying to talk with a gumball in his mouth. His face contorted in agony and terror, and he pulled his lip up from his bottom teeth. More blood ran down his chin, and he swung the broom handle through the air.

I saw him. Saw who? Jamie held up his hands defensively, not wanting to take a chance on Eric, swinging at him. I saw the kid. Eric lowered his head and he looked down at the customer. A long line of bloody spit fell out of his gaping mouth. This head was in three pieces, Jamie. He watched my soul.

I don't know, Eric. Jamie tried to be the voice of reason. I don't know. Don't you think that sounds a little bit crazy? Tell you what? You give me the... That. And we'll go sit down and call your mom.

Okay? Sound good? She can come pick you up. Fuck you! Eric swung the broom handle through the air again, like he was swinging a baseball bat. I found the baseball bat. I need to make the pieces smaller. What? Jamie asked, desperately. The pieces need to be smaller.

Eric brought one foot forward, then the other, crab walking over the bleeding body at his feet. He can't keep talking if the pieces are too small. Jesus Christ, Eric! Jamie took another step forward. You're seeing things. This guy isn't a ghost? Please! The customer on the floor croaked.

Please help me. I can barely breathe. Shut up! Eric bent down as low as he could and screamed. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You can't have my soul! No!

Fuck you! He swung the broom handle down. He cracked against the back of the customer's skull and the man's head went down. Blood pumped out of the wound and bathed his shoulders. But Eric kept swinging. He brought the broom handle down again and again until bits of hair and skull and skin were flying. When his arms got tired, he used his shoes. He stomped on what was left until the man's whole head had been reduced to the consistency of oatmeal.

Eric jumped into the air and landed on the customer's back so that his spine snapped horribly. The body folded, and Eric gripped the broom handle like a butter churn. He kept pounding at the bits, spraying gore absolutely everywhere. It swirled in puddles, mixed in the bottom. with the Diet Ghost foam and turning the bright blue soda a sickly shade of putrid green. Jamie felt like he was going to be sick. He slammed his hand down on his stomach and ran for the door. Eric did not seem to even notice him leaving.

He was too occupied with the body underneath him, and he kept muttering shit like, You sick bastard, you think you can haunt me? Nope, nah-uh, not today. Jamie pulled the door shut behind him and fumbled in his pockets for his keys. His hands trembled as he found the store key with its little yellow label, and he plunged it into the lock. Only when he heard the bolt shoot into place did he feel an ounce of relief. That was all his stomach needed to give him permission to vomit.

He let loose right there on the pavement, and then found a clean spot to sink down. He knew that he had to call the police, but he wasn't sure what to say. That Eric had completely lost it? That one minute he was fine, and the next he was screaming about go. Ghosts? Drugs, maybe that was the explanation. And if it was, then Jamie would lose his job for not sending Eric home and reporting the usage. But then, he hadn't noticed. And even if he had, he wouldn't have said anything. He had no way of knowing that Eric would go off the rails like that. Jamie couldn't even look behind him. He could still hear the dull thud of wood

striking the linoleum floor since Eric had run out of bone to pulverize. Jamie could only hope that the dead man had his wallet tucked away somewhere on his person, because that was all the police were going to have to identify him. That thought made him shudder. His stomach churned. He wanted to throw up again. Jamie's whole mouth tasted like bile. He swept his tongue around the inside of his cheeks and searched his pockets for his cigarettes.

He couldn't find them. He might have dropped them inside, but he was damned if he was going back to look. He glanced down at the can of diet. a quiet ghost that he had thrown to the ground earlier. It was still dented, but it didn't look like it had sprung a leak. The blue can gleamed in the light from the store windows. It was inviting in a strange way. There were some beads of moisture racing down the sides,

indicating that it was, maybe, at least a little bit cold. Just one swig. He needed to chase that taste out of his mouth. The door was locked, and there was no way that Eric would be able to pound his way out. There was a 24-hour pharmacy across the street. Jamie would walk in there and ask for help, calling the police. They had always been nice. He was sure they would help.

He was already feeling better about his plan. Jimmy popped the tab on the dented can of Diet Ghost and sipped from the very edge. It did taste a little bit like blue raspberry, but in the shittiest way possible, it was definitely sweetened with something he didn't like. But it tasted better. on his tongue than vomit. Before he knew it, Jamie had downed the entire thing. He crunched the can

and stood up, stealing one last glance behind him. There was something pressed up against the door. It looked like the dead customer's body with its head missing and blood soaking through the sweater covering its shoulders. Jamie's heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he was frozen in his spot. He noticed the body's hand twitch. It bowled. up into a fist and raised itself up, landing a solid bang against the glass. A horrible whale filled his head, and for half a second, the only thing he could hear was a desperate plea. Let me out! Jamie staggered back, almost tripping over the can of Diet Ghost that he had dropped,

and he booked it across the parking lot. SCP 2107 designates a soft drink brand known as Diet Ghost, which displays anomalous properties when imbibed. SCP 2107 has to date only been encountered packaged by the individual can. Within 3 to 7 minutes of ingestion, subjects, classified SCP 2107-a, begin to experience paranormal activity that most often falls within the colloquial expectations of an individual being haunted by a ghost or other paranormal entity. The effect continues until an as-of-yet undetermined point, in the

point in the breakdown of SCP 2107 within the subject's body, approximately one to three hours after ingestion. Research has confirmed that the intensity of the haunting effect, herein defined by the quantity of individual paranormal facets, the probability of physical harm, and the severity of said harm, is directly proportional to the quantity of SCP 2107 imbibed. SCP 2107 cans are the traditional variety used for soft drinks, being uniform in design and non-anomalous in composition and behavior. The can features a light blue background with the Diet Ghost logo prominently featured. The catchphrase, scare your thirst, appears beneath the logo. Most instances also have a sticker on the can with the text, made with natural ghosts, printed on it. It is unclear if cans lacking the sticker were distributed this way,

or if the sticker was removed before acquisition. The cans bear no nutritional information. The liquid contents are non-anomalous in chemical composition, and within normal parameters for a traditional diet soft drink.