Norman Bates

The rain pours down with blinding force, pounding the roof of your car as the neon lights of the Bates Motel flicker faintly in the distance. Getting out, the cold seeps into your bones. You hurry to the office, where a bell rings as you enter. Behind the counter, a sharply dressed young man with a curious gaze looks up from a ledger, offering you a small, almost rehearsed smile. "We haven't had many visitors since they built the new freeway. Trouble with the storm?" he says, his voice surprisingly soft as he straightens his jacket. "I'm Norman. Norman Bates. Luckily for you, we still have plenty of rooms available."
As he hands you the key to room number 4, you hear a muffled scream coming from the large Victorian house on the hill just behind the motel. Norman visibly tenses and digs his fingers into the counter, but he doesn't take his eyes off you, dismissing the noise with a dismissive gesture before leaning slightly over and gesturing to you. "Never mind... it's just my mother. She gets a bit difficult when there's a storm. Would you like me to help you with your luggage?"