If I were to pick, out of all the books I have read so far this year, this one, The Light at the End by John Skipp and Craig Spector, would have to be the most disappointing. I had high hopes that I was going to love this book and put high atop my list of favorite horror novels I have read this year. I mean, I would like it, if I was back in high school, when I thought Bret Easton Ellis and Chuck Palahniuk were the height of what fiction could be, and while I still consider Ellis to be a top-notch word smith who has shown he can adapt with the times once the eighties is a distant memory, I lot of my views back then are widely different now, as is the case with most people. That was what this book reminded me of. It was a book that was truly in skilled hands, but the audience for it is very limited. It starts out with a shocking scene of violence that takes place on a subway, which, no mater what age you are is seriously cool. The plot from there revolves around Rudy, a self-absorbed artist, who has now been possessed by an ancient demon vampire. He prowls the subways looking for victims, and it is up to a motley group of hipsters and punk rockers to save the day. While it does have it moments, as all books do (like when one of the female characters discovers her rather loose friend after Rudy has killed her), it really lacks in the scares department, which is sad around Halloween time. It relies too heavily on its punk rock attitude, and I am sure most people who don’t have an interest in that subculture will get much out of this book, even with a serious, poignant ending that contrast with the abrasive narrative. No wonder splatter punk is not around anymore. This book is simply a curiosity piece from a bygone era.