Paranoid (A Beatles Fanfiction)

People Think I'm Insane Because I Am Frowning All The Time

A month had passed since John and George's fight over George's medication. It seemed like time had just kept dragging on and on. Days seemed longer, shows seemed more drug out and each and everyday, George was losing his mind more and more. He hadn't been in to see a doctor in months because of all the constant touring and craziness he couldn't escape from.

Most days he wondered why he even bothered with medication. "What's the use?" the voices would often tell him, "We're going to be here either way. You can't stop us." The voices seemed to be getting worse and worse everyday. Some weren't even that bad. Some could be friendly and encouraging. Others could be taunting and homicidal or suicidal.

The date was August 30th. Not long after they played their biggest concert yet, Shea Stadium. And now they had more obligations and more places to play.

Wembley Stadium roared that night with screams from teenage girls and young women. The amps on the stage were turned up as loud as they could go just so that the four men on stage could at least somewhat hear what they were playing.

For George, the day went as any other.

He woke up that morning with a severe headache followed by a hallucination. They seemed to be more frequent.

George awoke to hearing his hotel door open and seeing a hand sneak slowly through the opening. The hand then suddenly disappeared and the room took a drastic turn to the color white. Everything was neon white and bright to the point George believed he'd gone blind. The hand came back not long after. And with it's long index finger it quickly wrote random gibberish words in fast, jerky motions. George crawled underneath his blankets, whimpering and panting and praying to God he wouldn't wake John up in the bed next to him. Last thing he needs is to be made fun of or interviewed by the nosey Beatle.

The white in the room dulled down and was now back to normal. Only difference was that the same dark, shape shifter that haunted him madly was by his bed, tapping his shoulder and telling him to calm down in a voice that sounded like Satan himself. There was two Shadow figures that would often show up during times like these. Sometimes it would be the good Shadow, who liked to refer to himself as numbers instead of an actual name and could change into anyone George wanted. He wasn't dark like the evil Shadow man though. He had dark, curly brown hair, a roman nose, much like John's and always worse church cloths or office apparel. He was George's friend, and he often told George no one else would understand George but besides him. And George believed him.

The shadow kept poking and tapping George over and over, telling him to get up, telling him to die, telling him to kill. Telling him things that no one in their right mind would say. It was terrifying. Soon the taps turned to punches and smacks and the threats became in-coherent mumbles and screams. Once this hallucination reached it's climax, the Shadow Man was gone, and the good Shadow was here.

"Seven?" George mumbled, scared, sweaty, on the near verge of tears. Seven came over to him slowly and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Hey George, it's okay. And just so you know, I'm Eight today, not Seven. Figured I'd change up my name for once." George nodded. "Is the evil thing gone? The, 'it'?" Eight shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "George, he's going to be here forever. But I stopped him for you. I'm sorry I was late. But I will always be here George. And don't let anyone tell you that I won't save you. I'm real and I'm here." With that, Eight left, leaving George to calm down from the shock of his hallucination.

Halfway during the concert, the shadow appeared again...the evil one. George tried to focus on his guitar playing, not wanting to mess up during Paul's song, because Paul would surely give him hell about it later. George closed his eyes, but as soon as he closed them, the Shadow's face was all he saw. He never even knew the Shadow had a face. And it was un-explainable. His mouth and eyes were stitched, no nose, pointed ears and a light glow hidden behind the stitches of his eyes. George screamed loudly and opened his eyes, sweat starting to drip from his face. The other three looked at him, confused. George didn't notice. He opened his eyes and yet still saw the Shadow's face, coming closer and closer to him. The crowd started to grow silent as Paul stopped singing to watch George.

"George? George?" Paul yelled. Ringo stopped playing all together and jumped down from his drums and ran to a trembling, shell shocked George who had his hands pressed hard against his head, a pained, unexplainable expression on his face. "LEAVE ME ALONE! STOP! OH GOD PLEASE HELP ME!" He yelled. Paul unstrapped the guitar from around George and it fell to the ground, almost on George's feet. John ran over and while running threw his guitar down loudly on the stage, causing a small spark from friction.

George was still screaming. He couldn't stop. Everywhere he looked, he was there. Smiling at him, gazing at him with red, stitched eyes. He wouldn't go. By now, George was crying. The most un-emotional man in the whole universe, was having a full break down, in front of a crowd. "George?!" Ringo cried as he grabbed his shoulders. Brian, who had been standing by the corner of the stage with Mal, was now running like a bat out of hell to George. "John," Brian yelled, Mal following close behind, "get him off, now!" John, Paul and Ringo all three picked up the screaming man. George was now trying to hit them, saying that Eight didn't want them there. Paul and Ringo were confused, but John knew what was going on. He had been rooming with him for months and the nights John would stay up late (always) he would hear George mumble numbers in his sleep and use a random number as if he was talking to a person.

This was wrong, something was so, so wrong.

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