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'd like to thank Carol for her help with the medical stuff! So THANK YOU, Carol! I really appreciate it! :o)

Stage Fright chapter seven

Paul waved at the crowd and felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked at John, who was standing next to him. The look on his friend's face however, scared him. It was one of horror and mortal fear.

"John? What's wrong?" he asked, looking around him to see what had scared his friend so badly.

John mouthed something, but no sound came out.

Paul gripped his arm. "John! What's the matter?"

Slowly, John pointed at the side wings. Paul followed his finger and looked. He didn't see anything, except for George and Ringo who also seemed terrified.

"What's going on?" Paul asked more urgently, starting to feel a little afraid himself.

George and Ringo now also slowly pointed their fingers at something. Paul looked again and this time he saw a pair of angry red eyes staring at him from the shadows. The eyes seemed to be burning with pure hatred, hatred that was directed at him.

Paul involuntarily took a step backwards. He could literally feel the hot anger singe his skin.

The eyes drew nearer to him and now Paul was able to make out a dark form; the shape of a man. The man closed in on him.

Paul tried to move, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. He watched with growing fear as the man approached him, slowly, determinedly, like a tiger stalking its prey.

As the figure stepped out of the shadows, Paul noticed something that caused his heart to skip a beat.

The man, his face contorted in extreme anger, was holding a huge butcher's knife in his hand.

Paul still was unable to move. "John! Help me!" he cried out.

However, John just stood, staring at him. He shook his head sadly, balefully.

Paul looked at him, incredulously. "John! Help me, please!" he shouted in a panic. "George, Ringo, anybody!"

But they all just stood and stared as the man came ever closer to Paul.

Finally, Paul managed to take a step backwards. He started to turn to run away, but was suddenly stopped by dozens of hands, holding him fast. Paul looked over his shoulder to see who had grabbed him.

Hundreds of girls were standing behind him, effectively blocking his escape route. Some of them had taken hold of his arms and legs, making it impossible for him to move.

"What are you doin'?!" Paul shouted at them, struggling in vain to break free. "Let me go! Please!"

The man was now standing in front of him. He raised the knife, preparing to strike.

"NO! Please!" Paul begged.

"Mr McCartney!"

The knife came down. It stabbed him in the chest…

"Mr McCartney!"

…in the abdomen…

"Paul!"

Paul's eyes snapped open, fighting off the hands that were holding him down. He struggled and screamed, oblivious to the searing pain in his chest and the pounding in his head. "No, let me go!"

"Give him two milligrams of Ativan!" a voice boomed.

Paul saw a woman with a syringe approach him and continued his desperate struggling.

However, as his eyes gradually adjusted to the bright lights overhead, his brain slowly took in his surroundings. He wasn't on stage at all, in fact, there weren't any girls surrounding him either. Nor was there a man with a butcher's knife trying to slaughter him.

"Mr McCartney, it's alright. You're in a hospital room," a calm and gentle voice spoke to him.

Paul looked up and saw a grey-haired male doctor standing over him and slowly it dawned on him that he'd only had a nightmare.

Two female nurses were standing on his other side. One of them was holding a now empty syringe.

The nurse with the syringe smiled at him and gently eased him back so that he was lying flat on his back again. "It's okay," she said soothingly, tenderly pushing the dark hair back that had been plastered to his forehead.

Paul suddenly became aware of the fact that he was drenched in sweat. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and smiled weakly. "Sorry about the fuss," he apologized, the McCartney charm kicking in.

"That's quite alright, Mr McCartney," the doctor replied mildly, whilst he scribbled something on a clipboard. He looked up briefly and noticed one of the nurses staring at his patient with a peculiar expression on her face. His eyebrows knitted disapprovingly and he cleared his throat.

The nurse was startled out of her stupor and blushed. She glanced at Paul one last time and quickly left the room.

Paul however, was too dazed to notice. The sedative he'd been given had already started to take effect and he drifted off in a dreamless sleep.