Stairway to Heaven

1957 Baker Street

Another night, another panic attack. I found myself going through the list of things I knew to be true, simply so I wouldn't go insane. 

A year ago I was killed and nobody could find my body. That means that I'm stuck in 'limbo' until A: somebody gives me a proper burial and B: somebody finds out how I died. How did I die? I can't remember. My family moved out and left me in an empty house for a month and a half until Ana and Tom moved in. I've promised them I'll do my best to keep them safe and I'm tired all the time because the amount of energy and concentration needed to keep that stupid basement door locked is enough to exhaust anyone! And I'm not the only spirit here. Someone's in the basement. And whoever it is doesn't want to share. 

By the time Ana and Tom had gone to bed I'd resolved myself to do something rash. When I was little I found a box in the attic of the cabin my family went to every winter. It had the names and pictures of somebody who used to own the cabin. There was a bunch of crazy stuff in the box too, lots of creepy stuff about monsters and how to kill them. From the sounds of it they thought all the stuff was real. The only other thing in the box was a phone number labeled 'Singer.' I was always too afraid of what I'd find to call that number but now I was really desperate. I went to the attic and found where I'd hidden the box and used all my strength to open it. I quickly memorized the number and hurried downstairs to the phone before I forgot it. Now was the really hard part of my plan, getting my finger to push the stupid buttons. I dialed the number. 

The phone started ringing and there was no going back. From reading that creepy stuff in the attic I knew that ghosts could somehow communicate through electronics, which, coincidentally, was the easiest thing for me to manipulate. Somebody picked up the phone.

"Who is it? Why are ya calling at such an ungodly hour?" I screwed up my concentration.

"Singer?"

"Who is this?"

"I need to talk to Singer."

"I hear ya, you've got 'im now who are you? You've got a bad connection. I can hardly hear you."

"Haunting at 1957 Baker Street"

"Say what now? Who are you?" I couldn't keep this up much longer. My strength was running out. 

"I need the Winchesters."

"Alright, I gotcha but tell me who you are." He was frustrating me. Didn't he see I didn't want to tell him that?

"Muse."

"Okay. Now how do you know about me?" My vision was blurring and the edges were fading. With the last of my strength, I gasped,

"1957 Baker Street."