Hey Everyone,

Currently working on a supernatural thriller and wanted to get some feedback on the first scene from the first chapter. I realize it's just a small excerpt from a longer work, and lacks a good deal of context for the story. It is a supernatural thriller that takes place in the pacific northwest. I've included the cover design mockup I have made to hopefully give you a bit of an idea of the tone of the story.

Cover:

I'm really leaning into the pulpy classic horror comic vibe for this story so it's likely I will include an action-packed prologue to set the scene before we dive into this first chapter.

What I'm really looking for is some feedback on the quality of the writing and if this short scene is enough to keep you reading through a longer work. It's only seen a single revision so far, so there is plenty of room for improvement. Thanks in advance!

Word Count: 1,233

Crit One: 1,010

Crit Two: 1,129

Total Crit Word Count: 2,139

Note on Crits:

Still new to this sub, generally I participate in short written crits followed by longer conversations. I have a bit of a template now but if anyone has any feedback on my crits that would be much appreciated.

Echoes from The Abyss:

Chapter One:

Nathan Hargrove sat in his home office, his face bathed in the glow of his iMac screen. The harsh light cast shadows on his unshaven face, making him appear even more haggard and worn than his thirty-six years of life should have suggested. Once a sanctuary of creativity, the room now resembled a graveyard of crushed dreams. The remnants of his failed writing career lay scattered around him—rejection letters crumpled like discarded tissues on the floor, half-empty coffee mugs cluttering the desk. It was a testament to his dwindling career, a once-promising star of the horror genre now teetering on the edge of obscurity.

The room was still, save for the soft hum of the computer and the occasional drip from the leaky bar faucet in the corner. Nathan's fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant to start. He yearned to pen the perfect sentence; hell, he would even settle for an average one. But the words came slowly, almost reluctantly, as Nathan typed out a line of text only to delete it in frustration. His current writing was some of the worst he had ever done, and the crushing weight of his last book's failure still haunted him. The advance for his last novel, Whispers from the Grave, had been massive, but the novel's poor reception had left him unable to sell another book since.

With a deep sigh, Nathan pushed back from the desk and walked over to the corner of the office, navigating around boxes of unsold signed copies of his latest work. He couldn’t bear to look at them. What a waste. A whole room filled with nothing but disappointment. The dimly lit room featured gray walls adorned with framed book covers from his past successes. Shadows danced on the walls as Nathan walked over to the bar. The amber liquid in the decanter caught his eye, and he poured himself a tall drink from the crystal. The whiskey shimmered in the dim light as he sank into the large leather reading chair that hadn't seen much use over the past three years for anything but getting sloshed. Embraced by the worn cushions like an old friend, Nathan found comfort in a world that had turned cold and unfeeling.

As he sipped deeply from the tumbler, Nathan's thoughts drifted to the better days when his imagination flowed like a river, and his pen seemed to dance across the page. He remembered the smell of freshly printed novels, the rustling sound of the pages turning, the exhilaration of bringing new worlds to life. Why can't it be like that anymore? My writing's as lifeless as week-old takeout left forgotten in the fridge. Each word seemed to be a random and ill-fitting companion to the previous and an enemy to the next. He longed for the days when his writing was alive, when he could breathe life into his characters and his stories. But now, as he stared into the whiskey glass, he knew those days were long gone. It's over. I'll never be that writer again. The feeling of helplessness and anger washed over him like a tidal wave.

In the darkness, drink in hand, Nathan drifted off into sleep, his body sinking into the plush leather chair. His drink slipped from his fingers, spilling onto the floor. The sound of the heavy-bottomed glass hitting the hardwood floor with a thud before the room fell into a near silence, only broken by Nathan’s heavy breathing.

As he slept, he dreamed. In his dream, Nathan found himself behind the wheel of a sleek sports car, a new Mercedes AMG Roadster in the Obsidian Black colorway, the purr of its V8 engine filling his ears. He glanced to his right and saw Amelia, his wife, sitting sideways beside him, her laughter infectious as they sped down the open road. Her bright green eyes and wide smile illuminated by the gentle rays of the moon and the harsher ones of the streetlamps. Nathan felt a surge of happiness, the wind whipping through his hair as he reveled in the luxury his latest advance check and hefty royalties had afforded him.

The car roared along the winding road, the car's headlights slicing through the inky darkness. The world was their playground, and for a moment, everything was perfect. Nathan was a successful author, he lived in a castle of a home in the most desirable suburb of California City, he drove a brand-new luxury vehicle, and he had Amelia. She was his rock, his constant companion through all the ups and downs of his life. When he worked nights at a pay-by-the-hour hotel, scribbling in a notebook long after the other staff had gone home. When he was fired from that job for daring to write on company time. When they were kicked out of their cramped and dingy apartment and forced to move into an even smaller and even more dingy apartment. And even when the power was cut off in that new apartment, leaving them shivering in the darkness, she had stayed by his side.

Through all the hardships and trials, she had been his biggest fan. His unwavering support, his steadfast ally. She had never wavered in her faith in him, never once faltered in her belief that he would succeed. And now, here they were, with everything they had ever dreamed of.

He turned to her, the faint light glinting in her eyes like stars. "You know," he began, his voice a soft whisper that barely overpowered the sound of the engine. "I couldn't have made it this far without you, Amelia."

Her eyes widened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She reached out and brushed his cheek with her hand. "I know," she said, her voice as warm as a summer breeze. "But look at you now. You made your wildest dreams come true, and we're here, together."

He gazed at her, the love in his heart overflowing, and leaned over pulling her close. "I did it because of you," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "I'll always love you."

He kissed her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He knew that whatever came next, whatever tribulations they might face, they would face them together. And he knew that with her by his side, there was nothing he couldn't overcome.

The dream shattered in an instant. The car swerved out of control, and the world spun around them. The vehicle careened off the road, plunging down the side of a ravine and smashing into the trees below. Nathan's head swam from the crash. His chest ached where the seatbelt had restrained him, and his face stung from the airbag's rough impact.

Amidst the mangled wreckage and cloud of dust, Amelia's face appeared as a pale mask, blood streaming from a deep gash across her cheek. One eye slightly bulged from its socket, her wounded gaze fixed on Nathan. "You killed me, Nathan," she whispered, her voice echoing through the twisted metal. "How could you kill me?" The accusation seared into him, and Nathan recoiled from it, his heart heavy with grief and guilt.

He reached out to touch her, to reassure her, but his hand passed through her as if she were made of smoke. Then the darkness closed in, taking her away from him.

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