Umm...knock knock? (open)

Quacey sat on his bed in his room, packed luggage at his side and a book in hand. The room wasn't at all big or decorative, it was just plain and simple. The walls, floor and ceiling was painted in warm, earthly orange and a large, green carpet covered one fourth of the floor. Right beside the orange sheeted bed, on its right side, a medium sized, dark brown dresser cabinet stood, one of its knobs missing. A red lamp stood on top a beige nightstand on the left side of the bed, the picture of a dog neatly stacked against it. A small grandfather's clock ticked slowly in the back corner of the room and the sounds of New York City drifted through an open window. Drawings of various things such as cars, dogs, people and landscapes littered the wall above the bed and various books was stashed in three rows of shelves. Right beside a white door, marking the entrance to the room, clothes and a backpack was hooked on a small, brown rack.

Even if the room wasn't much to look at, Quacey found that he rather liked it. Half a year had passed since he and his family had moved to New York, and if he had to be perfectly honest he would say that he liked this room better than his previous one. This room was old and not modernized, unlike his other room, and he found it brought a sense of peace and quiet that had been absent before.
The book Quacey held in his hand was titled “To Kill a Mockingbird”, and he was a bit over halfway done with it. He had started reading it last week upon recommendation from his mother and it was pretty good if he had to say so himself, a classic all things considered.

A loud rap on the door caught his attention and he looked up from the book, bookmarking the page before putting it down. “Yes, who is it?”.

“It's your mother! Could you please open up the door, honey?”.

“I will be there in a sec!”, he called to her and got up from his bed. Calmly and unhurriedly, he picked up his book once more and put it down on the nightstand. He stroked his hands over the bed sheets to even out the creases, before heading toward the door and turning the knob.

Bridget Argent, Quacey's mother, stood outside, waiting for him to open the door, hands at her hips and with a bubble gum in her mouth. At the age of 44 she still seemed young. There were barely any wrinkles on her long, narrow face, and not a single gray hair on her long, golden locks of curls. Her attire consisted of big, black and blue striped bag trousers that seemed to big for her, a sky-blue poet shirt and beige sandals with two different colored socks. She had rings on all her fingers, a bunch of arm- and wristbands, as well as huge, strawberry earrings that made a lot of noise whenever she moved her head or neck. There were traces of makeup on her face, as if she hadn't quite been able to remove it. Bridget wasn't overly pretty, she had neither a supermodel face or body, but she could still be considered attractive.

“Quicker than usual!”, his mother smiled jokingly at him as she passed through the doorframe, “Normally you'd take much longer”. She stopped in the middle of the room and turned on her heels to look at him. “Everything ready I presume?”.

Quacey nodded, standing leaned against the door, his hand on the knob. “Yes, I have packed everything. We just need to wait until Father shows up with the car”.

She tilt her head and looked about the room, “You packed the violin?”. He nodded in reply and observed her as she wandered about; opening his dress cabinet to see if there was something he had forgotten. A good five minutes passed before she clapped her hands and licked her lips in a satisfactory manner. “Good! Now, let's go, your Father awaits us!”.

Just as she said it, a loud honk from a car horn sounded outside the window. Both Quacey and his mother jumped, startled at the sound. Bridget laughed and scooped up Quacey's luggage, scurrying out the door with Quacey following close after. He was halfway down the stairs when he remembered he didn't have his book with him.

Taking the stairs two steps at a time, he barged into his room, picked up the book and ran out again, all in less than a minute. He made sure to close the door and turn off the light as he left the room. After all, quite some time would pass before he would be there again.

Outside the small, suburban house, a small 1984 Toyota Van was parked, its engine idling and making a lot of coughing sounds. It was painted a sky-blue with dots of white paint resembling clouds, and many different stickers were plastered on the car, especially on the hood and doors. They were everything from smiley faces, Disney characters and game characters like Mickey Mouse and Goofy, and The Pyramid Head from Silent Hill. As well as countless characters from the Final Fantasy games. Two dices, one yellow and one blue, could be seen dangling from the rearview window. The radio was cranked up and Bob Dylan's 'Knocking on Heavens Door' could clearly be heard from the car.

In the driving seat a wrinkled man sat, a frenzy of brown hair streaked with gray, spikes jutting out in whichever which way. A ridiculously large goatee with uncanny curls and swirls decorate his jaw, and on his chest he had a yellow button that said: “I am not an idiot!”. His green-rimmed glasses were askew and balanced dangerously on his nose tip. The man wore a crinkled black dress suit with a white shirt and a loose, red tie.

Quacey opened the car door and slid into the backseat between the driving and passenger seat; his seatbelt fastened almost before he had sat down. The trunk lid was opened and something (most likely his luggage) was tossed in. Bridget walked past the window, opened the door to the passenger seat and sat down; turning down the volume of the radio as she closed the door.

“Not so loud Greer, honey”, she patted him lightly on the shoulder and fastened her seatbelt, before she crossed her legs and leaned back in the seat. Greer sighed and started the engine up again, pulling out of their parking spot. He made a u—turn and laughed as the car hit a speed bump and lifted few inches above the concrete.

Quacey glanced out the window to his right and waved at one of his friends playing in the yard as they drove by. Making himself comfortable, he leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. The ride to his destination wouldn’t be all that long, but still long enough. Perhaps he could get a little shut-eye or some mental arithmetic. He had a math test that was due next Wednesday and he wanted to be sure that he knew the content well enough. Though he doubted there would be any trouble.

Almost two hours passed before Quacey spotted his destination. They were driving on a one-way street through a forest and he could barely spot the Mansion past the bend. He leaned forward in his seat when they rounded it and gasped at the sight.

The forest opened up to a large field of grass and a towering Mansion appeared in all its glory; at least three stories high and surrounded by a tall fence. The only entry point was a large, iron gate decorate with an X across the middle.

Greer stopped the car outside the gate and turned off the engine. Both him, Quacey and Bridget was leaned forward in their seats, staring through the front window with their mouths agape.

“It’s huuuggee!”, Greer whistled, his eyes roaming the magnificent building.

“Yeah…”, was the only reply he received from Quacey

Bridget closed Greer’s mouth and wiped the drool from his jaw. “So, what now? Do we just wait for someone to come along or…?”.