Rating (1-10) on the beginning of my story?

GOOSEBUMPS TYPE SCARY KID THING –> BEGINNING

“Are we there yet?” I know I’m a little old to ask stupid questions, but I feel as if it’s my duty. My name’s Lizzie Joanson and today I’m moving to a new house. I’m sandwiched in the back seat of the car between my ten year old sister Rose and a box filled with her cuddly toys. All I can see out of the window is grass. “I’m so bored!” Rose moaned. “We’ve been driving for hours!” In the front seat I could see mum sigh and sink down in her seat. “Look, we’re going through the Lake District. It’s beautiful.” Mum loves everything to do with nature. I think it’s a waste of time. “Beautifully boring.” That was my contribution. I could see dad’s head start to turn red. He’s bald, and his head turns red when he’s getting angry. “Be. Quiet. Now.” Ok, dad can be pretty scary when he gets annoyed. Our new house is in Glasgow, we’re moving because our dad is a teacher at the University, and we all have to go along with him. I’ve not been to see the house yet, but mum and dad have. They say it’s massive and Victorian. In my head I imagine it to be a huge gothic castle, with bats in the turrets, and vampires in the basement. Isn’t that what Victorian’s lived like? I told Rose about what our house would be like, and mum and dad told me off. They say that I have an overactive imagination; whatever that means. “Mum, is our new house haunted?” I love making up ghost stories, but I don’t want to meet a real ghost. I’m scared of ghosts and zombies and stuff like that. At my old school all the boys were mean to me, they’d sneak up behind me when I was daydreaming and say things like “Whoooh it’s the ghost.” That doesn’t seem scary, but I’m easily scared. “Of course not, it’s not that old. Don’t be a baby.” Even if I ask quite a reasonable question, I’m still treated like an idiot. I can see my reflection in the mirror. My short brown hair is all messed up - I couldn’t find my hairbrush this morning before we set off - and my eyes have huge bags under them. I look younger than my eleven years. We’ve just passed a sign welcoming us to Scotland. Mum says that it’ll only be an hour or so until we’re there. At the moment we’re driving along a country lane, and it’s getting late. “Can we stop for dinner or something? I’m starving!” I don’t want to complain, but I really am hungry. I didn’t eat much at lunchtime, but now I’ve got my appetite back. “We only had lunch..” Mum looked at her watch “five hours ago. Maybe we should stop for dinner.” She looked over at dad, who nodded his head. “I’ll stop at the next place we see, I could do with a big meal.” Dad is really clever, he has a PHD in Biology, or something like that. I don’t get it but everyone says it’s a really big deal so I guess it is. “Oh look, coming up on the left, it looks like a bed and breakfast. We might be able to get a meal there.” “We may as well try.” I brightened up a bit at the thought of some nice homemade food. We pulled into the driveway and looked up. It was just like my imaginary gothic mansion, with stained glass windows and turrets. In the dark it looked sinister, with trees reaching out their angry fingers towards us. Suddenly the front door of the house opened, and the figure in the doorway called out. Her voice barely audiable above the wind. “Come in dears, we’ll get some nice food into you