I wrote about a frontier woman in a frontier town. It could be any wind swept horizon, anytime one hundred years ago. I like the myth of the self sufficient woman of the wild wild west. Annie Oakley, she got her gun and now you don’t f**k with her. I like the calico skirts and the bonnets, the boots, the wild untameable hair. Her husband died some time ago and now she lives alone on the ranch. She goes into town a couple of times a month for supplies and to have high tea with her BFF at The St. John Hotel. The year is 1890.
Of course she meets a man. A stranger with a long scar on his handsome face. He’s dangerous, in fact he’s a killer. It’s a revision of the Blue Beard story. Girl meets monster and falls in love. The monster kills her, add her to his museum of murdered women. In my version she has combustive sex with him in a tawdry hotel room. He ignites all cylinders. Damn, if she doesn’t find herelf on fire. A forty year old widow with a sunburned face screwing her brains out. She can’t get enough of him.
When the ghost of his last lover appears to her one night, however, and reveals his secret, she escapes out the window, and lives to tell her tale. She’s old now. She still longs for him. She remembers what he did to her body. But she’s older and wiser. She knows better. Better to be alive than enshrined in a mausoleum of beautiful dead women. So its a ghost story, a love story, and a twist on an old favorite story.