Soon after beginning this book, I decided I needed to stop reading it. Not because it was a bad story, nor because I was scared, but because I couldn't put up with UK bestseller James Herbert's style of writing. The way he fills up the pages with brackets and odd personal comments really put me off, but thankfully the main character and the storyline managed to hold onto me. The titular character Joe Creed is a London-based paparazzi photographer about to make the worst mistake of his life, in photographing a strange man who appears in the aftermath of a funeral. Creed soon finds himself trying to unravel a string of occurrences that become more twisted and more unfathomable each step of the way. Creed isn't a unique character, but he is a well-developed one. He is very believable as a brash paparazzo, and is generally very likeable. Herbert definitely knew exactly who he was dealing with here. The story aswell, while expectedly trashy horror affair, is a lot of fun, genuinely chilling, and the emphasis on the media and Creed's occupation give it a certain edge. Herbert's writing does seem to settle down after a few chapters, but my major qualms lie in the feeling that this novel, despite it's maturity, still feels like a Point Horror book at times. The chapters ending on 'cliffhangers' are the worst offenders. You know, where the shadowy figure enters through the doorway, but it turns out to be a cat? I caught onto those when R.L Stine used them at the end of every single chapter in every single Goosebumps book. But you know, I can still see the humour in this, and I have a really hard time saying that this sort of thing actually detracted from my enjoyment of the book. A decent read, sure to entertain, but nothing more.