{"id":8122,"date":"2024-07-12T11:46:53","date_gmt":"2024-07-12T15:46:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=8122"},"modified":"2024-07-12T11:46:58","modified_gmt":"2024-07-12T15:46:58","slug":"roald-dahl-the-landlady","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/roald-dahl-the-landlady\/8122\/","title":{"rendered":"Roald Dahl: The Landlady"},"content":{"rendered":"
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In “The Landlady,” a short story by Roald Dahl published in The New Yorker in 1959, a young man named Billy Weaver arrives in Bath on business and looks for affordable accommodation for the night. Instead of going to “The Bell and Dragon” hotel as planned, he’s drawn to a “Bed and Breakfast” sign on a cozy-looking house. The house is run by a kind, motherly woman who welcomes him with great hospitality. Despite the calm and homely appearances, there’s a subtly unsettling atmosphere within the house and its owner, gradually revealing that all is not what it seems. As Billy becomes more immersed in the cozy environment, he discovers peculiar and disturbing details of the previous guests.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n
\"Roald<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Landlady<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

By Roald Dahl
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

BILLY WEAVER had travelled down from London on the slow afternoon train, with a change at Swindon on the way, and by the time he got to Bath it was about nine o\u2019clock in the evening and the moon was coming up out of a clear starry sky over the houses opposite the station entrance. But the air was deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExcuse me,\u201d he said, \u201cbut is there a fairly cheap hotel not too far away from here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTry The Bell and Dragon,\u201d the porter answered, pointing down the road. \u201cThey might take you in. It\u2019s about a quarter of a mile along on the other side.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Billy thanked him and picked up his suitcase and set out to walk the quarter-mile to The Bell and Dragon. He had never been to Bath before. He didn\u2019t know anyone who lived there. But Mr Greenslade at the Head Office in London had told him it was a splendid city. \u201cFind your own lodgings,\u201d he had said, \u201cand then go along and report to the Branch Manager as soon as you\u2019ve got yourself settled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Billy was seventeen years old. He was wearing a new navy-blue overcoat, a new brown trilby hat, and a new brown suit, and he was feeling fine. He walked briskly down the street. He was trying to do everything briskly these days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Briskness, he had decided, was the one common characteristic of all successful businessmen. The big shots up at Head Office were absolutely fantastically brisk all the time. They were amazing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were no shops in this wide street that he was walking along, only a line of tall houses on each side, all of them identical. They had porches and pillars and four or five steps going up to their front doors, and it was obvious that once upon a time they had been very swanky residences. But now, even in the darkness, he could see that the paint was peeling from the woodwork on their doors and windows, and that the handsome white fa\u00e7ades were cracked and blotchy from neglect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly, in a downstairs window that was brilliantly illuminated by a street-lamp not six yards away, Billy caught sight of a printed notice propped up against the glass in one of the upper panes. It said BED AND BREAKFAST. There was a vase of pussy-willows, tall and beautiful, standing just underneath the notice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stopped walking. He moved a bit closer. Green curtains (some sort of velvety material) were hanging down on either side of the window. The pussy-willows looked wonderful beside them. He went right up and peered through the glass into the room, and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth. On the carpet in front of the fire, a pretty little dachshund was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its belly. The room itself, so far as he could see in the half-darkness, was filled with pleasant furniture. There was a baby-grand piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs; and in one corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage. Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself; and all in all, it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in. Certainly it would be more comfortable than The Bell and Dragon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the other hand, a pub would be more congenial than a boarding-house. There would be beer and darts in the evenings, and lots of people to talk to, and it would probably be a good bit cheaper, too. He had stayed a couple of nights in a pub once before and he had liked it. He had never stayed in any boarding-houses, and, to be perfectly honest, he was a tiny bit frightened of them. The name itself conjured up images of watery cabbage, rapacious landladies, and a powerful smell of kippers in the living-room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After dithering about like this in the cold for two or three minutes, Billy decided that he would walk on and take a look at The Bell and Dragon before making up his mind. He turned to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now a queer thing happened to him. He was in the act of stepping back and turning away from the window when all at once his eye was caught and held in the most peculiar manner by the small notice that was there. BED AND BREAKFAST, it said. BED AND BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST. Each word was like a large black eye staring at him through the glass, holding him, compelling him, forcing him to stay where he was and not to walk away from that house, and the next thing he knew, he was actually moving across from the window to the front door of the house, climbing the steps that led up to it, and reaching for the bell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pressed the bell. Far away in a back room he heard it ringing, and then at once -it must have been at once because he hadn\u2019t even had time to take his finger from the bell-button -the door swung open and a woman was standing there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Normally you ring the bell and you have at least a half-minute\u2019s wait before the door opens. But this dame was like a jack-in-the-box. He pressed the bell -and out she popped! It made him jump.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was about forty-five or fifty years old, and the moment she saw him, she gave him a warm welcoming smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease come in,\u201d she said pleasantly. She stepped aside, holding the door wide open, and Billy found himself automatically starting forward into the house. The compulsion or, more accurately, the desire to follow after her into that house was extraordinarily strong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI saw the notice in the window,\u201d he said, holding himself back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was wondering about a room.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all ready for you, my dear,\u201d she said. She had a round pink face and very gentle blue eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was on my way to The Bell and Dragon,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Billy told her. \u201cBut the notice in your window just happened to catch my eye.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy dear boy,\u201d she said, \u201cwhy don\u2019t you come in out of the cold?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow much do you charge?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFive and sixpence a night, including breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was fantastically cheap. It was less than half of what he had been willing to pay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf that is too much,\u201d she added, \u201cthen perhaps I can reduce it just a tiny bit. Do you desire an egg for breakfast? Eggs are expensive at the moment. It would be sixpence less without the egg.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFive and sixpence is fine,\u201d he answered. \u201cI should like very much to stay here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI knew you would. Do come in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She seemed terribly nice. She looked exactly like the mother of one\u2019s best school-friend welcoming one into the house to stay for the Christmas holidays. Billy took off his hat, and stepped over the threshold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust hang it there,\u201d she said, \u201cand let me help you with your coat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were no other hats or coats in the hall. There were no umbrellas, no walking-sticks -nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe have it all to ourselves,\u201d she said, smiling at him over her shoulder as she led the way upstairs. \u201cYou see, it isn\u2019t very often I have the pleasure of taking a visitor into my little nest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old girl is slightly dotty, Billy told himself. But at five and sixpence a night, who gives a damn about that? \u201cI should\u2019ve thought you\u2019d be simply swamped with applicants,\u201d he said politely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I am, my dear, I am, of course I am. But the trouble is that I\u2019m inclined to be just a teeny weeny bit choosey and particular -if you see what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m always ready. Everything is always ready day and night in this house just on the offchance that an acceptable young gentleman will come along. And it is such a pleasure, my dear, such a very great pleasure when now and again I open the door and I see someone standing there who is just exactly right.\u201d She was half-way up the stairs, and she paused with one hand on the stair-rail, turning her head and smiling down at him with pale lips. \u201cLike you,\u201d she added, and her blue eyes travelled slowly all the way down the length of Billy\u2019s body, to his feet, and then up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the first-floor landing she said to him, \u201cThis floor is mine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They climbed up a second flight. \u201cAnd this one is all yours,\u201d she said. \u201cHere\u2019s your room. I do hope you\u2019ll like it.\u201d She took him into a small but charming front bedroom, switching on the light as she went in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe morning sun comes right in the window, Mr Perkins. It Is Mr Perkins, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s \u201cWeaver.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr Weaver. How nice. I\u2019ve put a waterbottle between the sheets to air them out, Mr Weaver. It\u2019s such a comfort to have a hot water-bottle in a strange bed with clean sheets, don\u2019t you agree? And you may light the gas fire at any time if you feel chilly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d Billy said. \u201cThank you ever so much.\u201d He noticed that the bedspread had been taken off the bed, and that the bedclothes had been neatly turned back on one side, all ready for someone to get in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m so glad you appeared,\u201d she said, looking earnestly into his face. \u201cI was beginning to get worried.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d Billy answered brightly. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t worry about me.\u201d He put his suitcase on the chair and started to open it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what about supper, my dear? Did you manage to get anything to eat before you came here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not a bit hungry, thank you,\u201d he said. \u201cI think I\u2019ll just go to bed as soon as possible because tomorrow I\u2019ve got to get up rather early and report to the office.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cVery well, then. I\u2019ll leave you now so that you can unpack. But before you go to bed, would you be kind enough to pop into the sitting-room on the ground floor and sign the book? Everyone has to do that because it\u2019s the law of the land, and we don\u2019t want to go breaking any laws at this stage in the proceedings, do we?\u201d She gave him a little wave of the hand and went quickly out of the room and closed the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, the fact that his landlady appeared to be slightly off her rocker didn\u2019t worry Billy in the least. After all, she was not only harmless-there was no question about that-but she was also quite obviously a kind and generous soul. He guessed that she had probably lost a son in the war, or something like that, and had never got over it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So a few minutes later, after unpacking his suitcase and washing his hands, he trotted downstairs to the ground floor and entered the living-room. His landlady wasn\u2019t there, but the fire was glowing in the hearth, and the little dachshund was still sleeping in front of it. The room was wonderfully warm and cosy. I\u2019m a lucky fellow, he thought, rubbing his hands. This is a bit of all right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He found the guest-book lying open on the piano, so he took out his pen and wrote down his name and address. There were only two other entries above his on the page, and, as one always does with guest-books, he started to read them. One was a Christopher Mulholland from Cardiff. The other was Gregory W. Temple from Bristol.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s funny, he thought suddenly. Christopher Mulholland. It rings a bell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now where on earth had he heard that rather unusual name before?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was he a boy at school? No. Was it one of his sister\u2019s numerous young men, perhaps, or a friend of his father\u2019s? No, no, it wasn\u2019t any of those. He glanced down again at the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Christopher Mulholland<\/p>\n\n\n\n

231 Cathedral Road, Cardiff<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gregory W. Temple<\/p>\n\n\n\n

27 Sycamore Drive, Bristol<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a matter of fact, now he came to think of it, he wasn\u2019t at all sure that the second name didn\u2019t have almost as much of a familiar ring about it as the first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGregory Temple?\u201d he said aloud, searching his memory. \u201cChristopher Mulholland?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSuch charming boys,\u201d a voice behind him answered, and he turned and saw his landlady sailing into the room with a large silver tea-tray in her hands. She was holding it well out in front of her, and rather high up, as though the tray were a pair of reins on a frisky horse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey sound somehow familiar,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey do? How interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m almost positive I\u2019ve heard those names before somewhere. Isn\u2019t that queer? Maybe it was in the newspapers. They weren\u2019t famous in any way, were they? I mean famous cricketers or footballers or something like that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFamous,\u201d she said, setting the tea-tray down on the low table in front of the sofa. \u201cOh no, I don\u2019t think they were famous. But they were extraordinarily handsome, both of them, I can promise you that. They were tall and young and handsome, my dear, just exactly like you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once more, Billy glanced down at the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook here, he said, noticing the dates. This last entry is over two years old.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, indeed. And Christopher Mulholland\u2019s is nearly a year before that-more than three Years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDear me,\u201d she said, shaking her head and heaving a dainty little sigh. \u201cI would never have thought it. How time does fly away from us all, doesn\u2019t it, Mr Wilkins?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Weaver,\u201d Billy said. \u201cW-e-a-v-e-r.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, of course it is!\u201d she cried, sitting down on the sofa. \u201cHow silly of me. I do apologize. In one ear and out the other, that\u2019s me, Mr Weaver.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know something?\u201d Billy said. \u201cSomething that\u2019s really quite extraordinary about all this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, dear, I don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you see both of these names, Mulholland and Temple, I not only seem to remember each of them separately, so to speak, but somehow or other, in some peculiar way, they both appear to be sort of connected together as well. As though they were both famous for the same sort of thing, if you see what I mean-like-like Dempsey and Tunney, for example, or Churchill and Roosevelt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow amusing,\u201d she said. \u201cBut come over here now, dear, and sit down beside me on the sofa and I\u2019ll give you a nice cup of tea and a ginger biscuit before you go to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou really shouldn\u2019t bother,\u201d Billy said. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean you to do anything like that.\u201d He stood by the piano, watching her as she fussed about with the cups and saucers. He noticed that she had small, white, quickly moving hands, and red finger-nails.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m almost positive it was in the newspapers I saw them,\u201d Billy said. \u201cI\u2019ll think of it in a second. I\u2019m sure I will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is nothing more tantalizing than a thing like this which lingers just outside the borders of one\u2019s memory. He hated to give up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow wait a minute,\u201d he said. \u201cWait just a minute. Mulholland\u2026Christopher Mulholland\u2026wasn\u2019t that the name of the Eton schoolboy who was on a walking-tour through the West Country, and then all of a sudden \u201cMilk?\u201d she said. \u201cAnd sugar?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, please. And then all of a sudden \u201d Eton schoolboy?\u201d she said. \u201cOh no, my dear, that can\u2019t possibly be right because my Mr Mulholland was certainly not an Eton schoolboy when he came to me. He was a Cambridge undergraduate. Come over here now and sit next to me and warm yourself in front of this lovely fire. Come on. Your tea\u2019s all ready for you.\u201d She patted the empty place beside her on the sofa, and she sat there smiling at Billy and waiting for him to come over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He crossed the room slowly, and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She placed his teacup on the table in front of him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere we are,\u201d she said. \u201cHow nice and cosy this is, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Billy started sipping his tea. She did the same. For half a minute or so, neither of them spoke. But Billy knew that she was looking at him. Her body was half-turned towards him, and he could feel her eyes resting on his face, watching him over the rim of her teacup. Now and again, he caught a whiff of a peculiar smell that seemed to emanate directly from her person. It was not it, the least unpleasant, and it reminded him well, he wasn\u2019t quite sure what it reminded him of Pickled walnuts? New leather? Or was it the corridors of a hospital?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr Mulholland was a great one for his tea,\u201d she said at length. \u201cNever in my life have I seen anyone drink as much tea as dear, sweet Mr Mulholland.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI suppose he left fairly recently,\u201d Billy said. He was still puzzling his head about the two names. He was positive now that he had seen them in the newspapers in the headlines.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLeft?\u201d she said, arching her brows. \u201cBut my dear boy, he never left. He\u2019s still here. Mr Temple is also here. They\u2019re on the third floor, both of them together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Billy set down his cup slowly on the table, and stared at his landlady. She smiled back at him, and then she put out one of her white hands and patted him comfortingly on the knee. \u201cHow old are you, my dear?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSeventeen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSeventeen!\u201d she cried. \u201cOh, it\u2019s the perfect age! Mr Mulholland was also seventeen. But I think he was a trifle shorter than you are, in fact I\u2019m sure he was, and his teeth weren\u2019t quite so white. You have the most beautiful teeth, Mr Weaver, did you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re not as good as they look,\u201d Billy said. \u201cThey\u2019ve got simply masses of fillings in them at the back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr Temple, of course, was a little older,\u201d she said, ignoring his remark. \u201cHe was actually twenty-eight. And yet I never would have guessed it if he hadn\u2019t told me, never in my whole life. There wasn\u2019t a blemish on his body.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA what?\u201d Billy said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHis skin was just like a baby\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a pause. Billy picked up his teacup and took another sip of his tea, then he set it down again gently in its saucer. He waited for her to say something else, but she seemed to have lapsed into another of her silences He sat there staring straight ahead of him into the far corner of the room, biting his lower lip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat parrot,\u201d he said at last. \u201cYou know something? It had me completely fooled when I first saw it through the window from the street. I could have sworn it was alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlas, no longer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s most terribly clever the way it\u2019s been done,\u201d he said. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t look in the least bit dead. Who did it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou did?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd have you met my little Basil as well?\u201d She nodded towards the dachshund curled up so comfortably in front of the fire. Billy looked at it. And suddenly, he realized that this animal had all the time been just as silent and motionless as the parrot. He put out a hand and touched it gently on the top of its back. The back was hard and cold, and when he pushed the hair to one side with his fingers, he could see the skin underneath, greyish-black and dry and perfectly preserved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood gracious me,\u201d he said. \u201cHow absolutely fascinating.\u201d He turned away from the dog and stared with deep admiration at the little woman beside him on the sofa. \u201cIt must be most awfully difficult to do a thing like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot in the least,\u201d she said. \u201cI stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away. Will you have another cup of tea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d Billy said. The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn\u2019t much care for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou did sign the book, didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s good. Because later on, if I happen to forget what you were called, then I can always come down here and look it up. I still do that almost every day with Mr Mulholland and Mr-\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTemple,\u201d Billy said. \u201cGregory Temple. Excuse my asking, but haven\u2019t there been any other guests here except them in the last two or three years?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Holding her teacup high in one hand, inclining her head slightly to the left, she looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes and gave him another gentle little smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, my dear,\u201d she said. \u201cOnly you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In “The Landlady,” a short story by Roald Dahl published in The New Yorker in 1959, a young man named Billy Weaver arrives in Bath on business and looks for affordable accommodation for the night. Instead of going to “The Bell and Dragon” hotel as planned, he’s drawn to a “Bed and Breakfast” sign on … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13455,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[584,572,614],"class_list":["post-8122","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-great-britain","tag-horror-en","tag-roald-dahl-en","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":584,"label":"Great Britain"},{"value":572,"label":"Horror"},{"value":614,"label":"Roald Dahl"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/Roald-Dahl-La-patrona.jpg",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":424,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":424,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":584,"name":"Great Britain","slug":"great-britain","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":584,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":49,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":572,"name":"Horror","slug":"horror-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":572,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":129,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":614,"name":"Roald Dahl","slug":"roald-dahl-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":614,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":4,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8122","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8122"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8122\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13455"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8122"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8122"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8122"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}