Gront Spoketer - Two Sets of Boots

Gront Spoketer is walking down the Slate Gap pass at dusk when the snow stops landing on the back of his neck. Something enormous is walking in his footprints, close enough to feel and too quick to catch. Every time he turns, it is gone. For once, the warden is afraid. Genre & Mood: Dark Country / Gothic Americana. Fast, galloping and bouncy, with sudden hard stops and a growing sense of dread. Key Instrumentation: Muted clawhammer banjo, reverb-drenched tremolo baritone guitar, walking upright bass, boot-stomp with a late floor tom echo, low pipe organ pedal at key moments, low male choir, gravelly baritone. Story Themes: Fear that stays stoic, a presence felt but never seen, a pursuer that lives only in your footprints, and an ending that doesn't quite let go. #GrontSpoketer #SunoAI #DarkCountry #GothicAmericana #FolkHorror #MonsterHunter #SnowHorror #Tension #Banjo #AIMusic Lyrics: Dusk on the pass and the snow coming down, Six miles of switchback to the timber town. Then the snow stopped landing on the back of my neck. Something wide stood close. I did not check. Crunch. Crunch. A half-beat late. Boots in my prints, and a heavier weight. I stopped. It stopped, a beat too slow, And the crust groaned under it, deep and low. I quickened my pace. Eight strides. Ten. The crunch behind me quickened then. (Choir) One, two, three, and a half! (Choir) Four, five, six, and a half! Two sets of boots on a single track, Tall as the pines, and it's stooped at my back, I turn on my heel... Nothing there. Only pines and the thin cold air. (Choir) Turn round! Nothing there! (Choir) Turn round! Nothing there! I planted my feet and I let the wind die. A bough dropped its load twelve feet high, Where nothing should be brushing by. Then breath on my neck, warm as a hearth, Ten below, with no hearth on this earth. I did not run. I kept my pace, And it kept mine, and it kept its place. My hands that never shake began to shake. The count in my head started to break. (Choir) One, two, three, and a breath! (Choir) Four, five, six, and a breath! Two sets of boots on a single track, Tall as the pines, and it's stooped at my back, I turn on my heel... Gone. Just a dent where the weight had been. (Choir) Turn round! Nothing there! (Choir) Turn round! Nothing there! I quit turning. I held the lantern behind me, Eyes on the snow where my own shadow lay. Two shadows. Mine, and one stooped over it, Tall as the pines, with its head bent my way. A hand laid cold on my left arm, heavy. My knees gave. I caught myself and stayed. Thirty winters hunting, and never once like this. I won't lie to you: I was afraid. So I thumbed the shutter, let the blue light run, And froze every print I had left, one by one. [Instrumental Climax: Cello & Flatpicking Duel] One set of boots on a broken track, Nothing ahead and nothing at my back. Snow on my neck, falling light, falling free, And I turn, and there's nothing. As it should be. (Choir) Snow on the neck! Nothing there! (Choir) Snow on the neck! Nothing there! First light on the timber, the gate in sight, Left arm dead from the cold of the night. Snow came down on the back of my neck. Then it quit. I did not check.