First, it was little more than vapour. Ringo stared hard at the damp cloud of mist that levitated in front of him, just visible from the wavering light that flickered from his candle. Then it began to congeal into a form. Deathly white skin surrounded its dark eyes, that stared pitilessly into Ringo's soul. He stood, shivering as it reached a translucent, rotting hand towards his face... it moaned eerily, and its face twisted into a sinister smile. Its dagger-like teeth were covered in crimson blood that dripped slowly onto the cold floor as it stretched its gaunt fingers towards Ringo.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Ringo woke up from the nightmare, breathing heavily. His back was sticky with sweat and he was twitching, glancing around the room in a panicked frenzy. The bedroom was pitch black and as silent as a grave. The only sound was his own breathing and a steady, slow dropping noise.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A flood of relief overcame Ringo when he remembered George was with him.

"Hey... George?" He murmured quietly, leaning over the side of his bed to speak to his companion.

There was no reply.

"George?" Ringo was starting to panic. Shaking, he reached out a sweaty palm to shake his bandmate. His fingers touched empty space.

He gave a shout of alarm and rolled out of bed, landing painfully on the hard floor. Desperately he searched the pillows that George had laid out the night before, but there was nothing there.

"Oh God, George!" Screamed Ringo, and he stood up dizzily. The continuous, taunting dripping sound was drilling into his head, making him disorientated as he felt along the wall to find the light switch, sobbing.

His hand slid stickily over the switch and the light flickered on, illuminating the room. Ringo's shadow stretched across the room to the opposite wall, where the dripping sound was coming from.

Thick, crimson blood trickled slowly down the wall, leaving a sticky trail. A dark red puddle had formed at the base of the wall where blood was falling in menacing fat drops from the ceiling.

Drip, drip, drip.

Ringo could only stand there, paralysed with fear, as he watched the crimson pool grow larger with every falling drop of blood. Moonlight slithered in through a chink in the curtains, casting a cold light on the empty space on the floor.

George was gone.

***

John woke up with a start, banging his head painfully on something that he couldn't make out in the darkness. Groggily, he tried to work out where the sound had come from that had woken him. Then he heard the shout again, but louder and more desperate.

Ringo was in trouble.

He leapt out of bed, flicked on the light and rushed into the corridor. He raced towards the room Ringo was staying in and threw the door open, leaping inside.

The drummer was stood leaning against the opposite side of the room, trembling violently. His face was deathly white and he was staring at the wall behind John, trying to say something.

Hesitantly, John turned around to see what Ringo was so terrified of.

The wall was painted in some kind of red liquid. Oh, God. Was that... blood? John took a horrified step back when he realised the blood formed a gruesome message:

DON'T TRY AND GET RID OF ME AGAIN

Suddenly, Paul burst into the room, aggressively waving a baseball bat around over his head.

"Whoever is hurting my friends, you can bloody..." he started screaming until he saw what John and Ringo were staring at. The baseball bat fell from his hands with a heavy clunk as he gawped at the message.

"Oh my..." he murmured, turning to stare at his friends. He raised a shaky hand to point at the blood. "Wha... what happened? Where's George?"

A sudden crushing realisation dawned on John as he remembered that George had stayed with Ringo the previous night. He turned to see a pile of pillows and crumpled blanket where Geo should have been.

Ringo finally looked away from the crimson wall to stare at his friends. His blue eyes were filled with horror and terror. He was trying to say something, but he kept stumbling over his tongue and bubbling like a nervous goldfish.

"R... Ringo?" John was shocked at how scared his own voice sounded, and put on a harder, confident tone immediately. "What is it?"

The drummer lifted his shaking arm to point at the bedside table, his eyes wide and mouth gawping wide open like a trout that had just seen a ghost.

John and Paul followed his terrified gaze to see what he was pointing at.

There, sitting on the bedside table, was the ring.