Brittany Johnson is unstoppable. Be it novel or short story, she always pulls a powerful punch, and Ladybugs in November is no exception. This quick tale is immersive and wildly engaging, pulling the reader in fast with its rich imagery and descriptions. But my favorite part? The LORE. Though the story is simple at face value, the richness comes in its setting and history, just as in Johnson's prior works. Southern horror to its dry bones.
I'll say the plot as simply as possible, as I hesitate to reveal too much: Two men with a dark secret enter a foreboding ladybug-covered house in an attempt to reckon with that very secret. And the house itself has even more secrets, ones that are hinted at but never uncovered. And they shouldn't be. For such purposeful teasing is the stuff of legend and campfire fodder. Johnson executes that layered storytelling with a mastery many seasoned novelists never fully realize.
The Stephen King influences are definitely there, from some flavorful character moments and dialogue to that unnerving sense of dread that Johnson here makes wholly her own. In fact in one particularly disturbing scene involving ladybugs crawling up into certain, um, places, I was immediately taken back to King's Creepshow when those cockroaches terrorize the hapless Upson Pratt in his loft apartment.
Devour this one, friends. But be careful. Ladybugs won't seem so cute anymore.