EIGHT EYES: Lock the doors. Kill the lights. And pray it isn't already looking back.

Summer 1983. Caddo Bend is the kind of town you pass without slowing down — two thousand people, a sawmill, one diesel pump, and black country stretching for miles in every direction.

Then a farmer is found torn open in his own barn.

The sheriff wants it to be a bear. A drifter. Anything that still fits inside the world he knows. But when a waitress turns up at the tree line, hollowed out and half-digested, the truth stops fitting anywhere. Something is hunting Caddo Bend after dark. It moves low and fast on eight legs. Its eyes shine green in a flashlight beam. And every night, it comes back bigger.

When an arachnologist arrives with an explanation no one wants to believe, the sheriff and a handful of townspeople — an old hunter, a millworker, a teenage girl who saw the thing and lived — are all that's left between Caddo Bend and the dark. They have shotguns, gasoline, and a few hours of darkness to finish it.

The town has locked its doors. It won't be enough.

A relentless, white-knuckle creature-horror novel steeped in the heat and dread of small-town America — where the scariest thing isn't only the monster in the fields. It's how far good people will go to live until morning.