I have as many irrational phobias as the next person, but I would guess that my main fear is to be at room temperature.
Or, to eat it.
Or, to baste the formaldehyde turkey, become a root inspector, or be living-challenged. To buy a pine condo, cash in my chips, or go into the fertilizer business. To be juggling halos, whilst feeling rather stiff as part of an invisible choir. To have bought the farm, biting the dust, pushing up daisies and permanently out-of-print. To shuffle off the mortal coil, to be past my sell-by-date, to be worm food and to take a big old nap. Wandering the Elysian fields.
Or, to kick the oxygen habit.
To croak it, conk out and cross over; to be defunct, departed and deceased.