AN: I am not the original author of the story below my goal is to gather Beatles stories from around the web and have them in one area so that they don't get deleted. If you are the original author and would like me to remove this story I will.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Beatles and no offense or disrespect is intended, nor defamation of character. The stories are completely fictitious, so NOT real.

I would like to extend a great big thank you to Ms. Moonlight for her invaluable help and advice. THANK YOU!

Stage Fright chapter one

"God, it's bloody cold here in Washington," Ringo said, turning up the collar of his coat as he hurried to the doors of the stadium, passing hordes of screaming fans.

"We're in Boston, sod," John Lennon corrected behind him.

"Oh, is that the place…"

George and Paul chuckled, following the two older Beatles. They only barely managed to escape the groping female hands as they made their way from their car to the stadium.

Once safely inside, they were rushed to their dressing room.

When they finally got there, all four simultaneously collapsed on the sofa, which was in the centre of the room.

"They're all getting pottier by the day," John commented, referring to the screaming fans outside. Even though massive walls parted them from the fans, the tremendous noise outside was still very much audible.

Their tour manager Neil and roadie Mal entered the room. "All right, lads?" Neil asked. "D'you want me to bring you anything? You don't have to go up till about another two hours or so."

All four Beatles sighed; another long, dull wait ahead of them.

"Nah, that's all right, Nell," John replied, staring at the television on the other side of the room. "George, turn on the TV for me."

"Why me?"

"Cause you're the youngest!" John replied matter-of-factly.

"Sod off! Do it yerself," George retorted.

"Paul, switch it on," John ordered.

"Forget it, mate," Paul replied decisively.

John batted his eyelashes at Ringo in a final attempt to get his way. "Ringo, could you…?"

"Get on!"

John sighed despondently. "Youngsters these days…" he said in a mock upper-class accent as he got up. Then he simply sat back down. "Sod it then."

Once again the four of them simply sat and stared into nothingness.

"I can bring you some fan mail if you like," Neil suggested.

"Yeah alright," Paul said. "We don't have anythin' better to do anyway. Maybe we can have a laugh or two."

Mal and Neil disappeared and returned five minutes later, carrying a large mail bag each. "There you are, lads. Enjoy!" Neil said and he and Mal were off again, closing the door behind them.

"Ta, fellas!" Paul called after them.

"Right, let's see what we've got here then," John mumbled, his head in one of the bags, digging through the letters.

Soon they all sat about in the room, reading letters out loud and laughing their heads off. They were taking turns reading them and now it was Paul's turn. He opened one, skimmed through it and his face blanched.

"What? Another 'death to the Beatles letter'?" George asked laconically.

"Yeah, something like that," Paul muttered, his face still pale. "Only this one's directed to me."

John leaned over and tried, unsuccessfully, to read it without his glasses. "Well let's hear it then."

Slowly Paul started reading:

Dear Paul

I hate you. I resent the way you look, the way you sing, the way you talk, smile and wave. I hate the way you steal other people's girlfriends, like you stole mine. She met you once and she told me you were really nice to her, she also told me she wanted to break up with me, because she wanted to marry you. You took her away from me. I think boyfriends all over the world would be happy to get rid of you. I think I may just do them a favour.

John snorted. "What a stupid fucker." He looked at Paul, who still looked somewhat pale and he squeezed his shoulder gently. "Aye, we've had letters like these before, Paulie. They're just crazy people, out of their heads you know."

Unfortunately, these things were becoming more and more common lately. They had started receiving frightening letters over a year ago, mostly from angry boyfriends and religious groups. At first they'd been terrified, but as time went by and nothing serious happened, the fear gradually lessened. Still, they didn't particularly enjoy getting them either.

Put out by their latest death threat, the Beatles abandoned their fan mail and went about finding other things to do. John watched Paul sit down in a corner of the room and strum his guitar. He still looked a bit pale and ill-at-ease. John made a mental note to mention the disturbing letter to Mal and Neil before they went on stage