{"id":6027,"date":"2026-01-04T12:35:43","date_gmt":"2026-01-04T12:35:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/gwendys-button-box-king-stephen\/"},"modified":"2026-01-04T12:35:43","modified_gmt":"2026-01-04T12:35:43","slug":"gwendys-button-box-king-stephen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/gwendys-button-box-king-stephen\/","title":{"rendered":"Gwendy’s Button Box – King, Stephen"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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1<\/p>\n

There are three ways up to Castle View from the town of Castle Rock: Route 117, Pleasant Road, and the Suicide Stairs. Every day this summer\u2014yes, even on Sundays\u2014twelve-year-old Gwendy Peterson has taken the stairs, which are held by strong (if time-rusted) iron bolts and zig-zag up the cliffside. She walks the first hundred, jogs the second hundred, and forces herself to run up the last hundred and five, pelting\u2014as her father would say\u2014hellbent for election. At the top she bends over, red-faced, clutching her knees, hair in sweaty clumps against her cheeks (it always escapes her ponytail on that last sprint, no matter how tight she ties it), and puffing like an old carthorse. Yet there has been some improvement. When she straightens up and looks down the length of her body, she can see the tips of her sneakers. She couldn\u2019t do that in June, on the last day of school, which also happened to be her last day in Castle Rock Elementary.<\/p>\n

Her shirt is sweat-pasted to her body, but on the whole, she feels pretty good. In June, she felt ready to die of a heart attack every time she reached the top. Nearby, she can hear the shouts of the kids on the playground. From a bit farther away comes the chink of an aluminum bat hitting a baseball as the Senior League kids practice for the Labor Day charity game.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s wiping her glasses on the handkerchief she keeps in the pocket of her shorts for just that purpose when she is addressed. \u201cHey, girl. Come on over here for a bit. We ought to palaver, you and me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gwendy puts her specs on and the blurred world comes back into focus. On a bench in the shade, close to the gravel path leading from the stairs into the Castle View Recreational Park, sits a man in black jeans, a black coat like for a suit, and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top. On his head is a small neat black hat. The time will come when Gwendy has nightmares about that hat.<\/p>\n

The man has been on this same bench every day this week, always reading the same book (Gravity\u2019s Rainbow<\/span>, it\u2019s thick and looks mighty arduous), but has never said anything to her until today. Gwendy regards him warily.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not supposed to talk to strangers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s good advice.\u201d He looks about her father\u2019s age, which would make him thirty-eight or so, and not bad looking, but wearing a black suit coat on a hot August morning makes him a potential weirdo in Gwendy\u2019s book. \u201cProbably got it from your mother, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFather,\u201d Gwendy says. She\u2019ll have to go past him to get to the playground, and if he really is a weirdo he might try to grab her, but she\u2019s not too worried. It\u2019s broad daylight, after all, the playground is close and well-populated, and she\u2019s got her wind back.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn that case,\u201d says the man in the black coat, \u201clet me introduce myself. I\u2019m Richard Farris. And you are\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n

She debates, then thinks, what harm? \u201cGwendy Peterson.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo there. We know each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gwendy shakes her head. \u201cNames aren\u2019t knowing.\u201d<\/p>\n

He throws back his head and laughs. It\u2019s totally charming in its honest good humor, and Gwendy can\u2019t help smiling. She still keeps her distance, though.<\/p>\n

He points a finger-gun at her: pow. \u201cThat\u2019s a good one. You\u2019re<\/span> a good one, Gwendy. And while we\u2019re at it, what kind of name is that, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA combination. My father wanted a Gwendolyn\u2014that was his granny\u2019s name\u2014and my mom wanted a Wendy, like in Peter Pan<\/span>. So they compromised. Are you on vacation, Mr. Farris?\u201d This seems likely; they are in Maine, after all, and Maine proclaims itself Vacationland. It\u2019s even on the license plates.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou might say so. I travel here and there. Michigan one week, Florida the next, then maybe a hop to Coney Island for a Redhot and a ride on the Cyclone. I am what you might call a rambling man, and America is my beat. I keep an eye on certain people, and check back on them every once and again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chink<\/span> goes the bat on the field past the playground, and there are cheers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s been nice talking to you, Mr. Farris, but I really ought to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStay a bit longer. You see, you\u2019re one of the people I\u2019ve been keeping an eye on just recently.\u201d<\/p>\n

This should sound sinister (and does, a little), but he\u2019s still smiling in the aftermath of his laughter, his eyes are lively, and if he\u2019s Chester the Molester, he\u2019s keeping it well hidden. Which, she supposes, the best ones would do. Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got a theory about you, Miss Gwendy Peterson. Formed, as all the best theories are, by close observation. Want to hear it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI notice you are a bit on the plump side.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maybe he sees her tighten up at that, because he raises a hand and shakes his head, as if to say not so fast<\/span>.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou might even think of yourself as fat, because girls and women in this country of ours have strange ideas about how they look. The media\u2026do you know what I mean by the media?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure. Newspapers, TV, Time<\/span> and Newsweek<\/span>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNailed it. So okay. The media says, \u2018Girls, women, you can be anything you want to be in this brave new world of equality, as long as you can still see your toes when you stand up straight.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

He has<\/span> been watching me, Gwendy thinks, because I do that every day when I get to the top. She blushes. She can\u2019t help it, but the blush is a surface thing. Below it is a kind of so-what defiance. It\u2019s what got her going on the stairs in the first place. That and Frankie Stone.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy theory is that somebody tweaked you about your weight, or how you look, or both, and you decided to take the matter in hand. Am I close? Maybe not a bullseye, but at least somewhere on the target?\u201d<\/p>\n

Perhaps because he\u2019s a stranger, she finds herself able to tell him what she hasn\u2019t confided to either of her parents. Or maybe it\u2019s his blue eyes, which are curious and interested but with no meanness in them\u2014at least not that she can see. \u201cThis kid at school, Frankie Stone, started calling me Goodyear. You know, like\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike the blimp, yes, I know the Goodyear Blimp.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh-huh. Frankie\u2019s a puke.\u201d She thinks of telling the man how Frankie goes strutting around the playground, chanting I\u2019m Frankie Stoner! Got a two-foot boner!<\/span> and decides not to.<\/p>\n

\u201cSome of the other boys started calling me that, and then a few of the girls picked it up. Not my friends, other girls. That was sixth grade. Middle school starts next month, and\u2026well\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve decided that particular nickname isn\u2019t going to follow you there,\u201d says Mr. Richard Farris. \u201cI see. You\u2019ll also grow taller, you know.\u201d He eyes her up and down, but not in a way she finds creepy. It\u2019s more scientific. \u201cI\u2019m thinking you might top out around five-ten or -eleven before you\u2019re done. Tall, for a girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStarted already,\u201d Gwendy says, \u201cbut I\u2019m not going to wait.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll pretty much as I thought,\u201d Farris says. \u201cDon\u2019t wait, don\u2019t piss and moan, just attack the issue. Go head-on. Admirable. Which is why I wanted to make your acquaintance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been nice talking to you, Mr. Farris, but I have to go now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. You need to stay right here.\u201d He\u2019s not smiling anymore. His face is stern, and the blue eyes seem to have gone gray. The hat lays a thin line of shadow over his brow, like a tattoo. \u201cI have something for you. A gift. Because you are the one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t take things from strangers,\u201d Gwendy says. Now she\u2019s feeling a little scared. Maybe more than a little.<\/p>\n

\u201cNames aren\u2019t knowing, I agree with you there, but we\u2019re not strangers, you and I. I know you, and I know this thing I have was made for someone like you. Someone who is young and set solidly on her feet. I felt you, Gwendy, long before I saw you. And here you are.\u201d He moves to the end of the bench and pats the seat. \u201cCome sit beside me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gwendy walks to the bench, feeling like a girl in a dream. \u201cAre you\u2026Mr. Farris, do you want to hurt me?\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiles. \u201cGrab you? Pull you into the bushes and perhaps have my wicked way with you?\u201d He points across the path and forty feet or so up it. There, two or three dozen kids wearing Castle Rock Day Camp t-shirts are playing on the slides and swings and monkey bars while four camp counselors watch over them. \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019d get away with that, do you? And besides, young girls don\u2019t interest me sexually. They don\u2019t interest me at all, as a rule, but as I\u2019ve already said\u2014or at least implied\u2014you are different. Now sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sits. The sweat coating her body has turned cold. She has an idea that, despite all his fine talk, he will now try to kiss her, and never mind the playground kids and their teenage minders just up the way. But he doesn\u2019t. He reaches under the bench and brings out a canvas bag with a drawstring top. He pulls it open and removes a beautiful mahogany box, the wood glowing a brown so rich that she can glimpse tiny red glints deep in its finish. It\u2019s about fifteen inches long, maybe a foot wide, and half that deep. She wants it at once, and not just because it\u2019s a beautiful thing. She wants it because it\u2019s hers<\/span>. Like something really valuable, really loved, that was lost so long ago it was almost forgotten but is now found again. Like she owned it in another life where she was a princess, or something.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d Gwendy asks in a small voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cA button box,\u201d he says. \u201cYour button box. Look.\u201d<\/p>\n

He tilts it so she can see small buttons on top of the box, six in rows of two, and a single at each end. Eight in all. The pairs are light green and dark green, yellow and orange, blue and violet. One of the end-buttons is red. The other is black. There\u2019s also a small lever at each end of the box, and what looks like a slot in the middle.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe buttons are very hard to push,\u201d says Farris. \u201cYou have to use your thumb, and put some real muscle into it. Which is a good thing, believe me. Wouldn\u2019t want to make any mistakes with those, oh no. Especially not with the black one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gwendy has forgotten to feel afraid of the man. She\u2019s fascinated by the box, and when he hands it to her, she takes it. She was expecting it to be heavy\u2014mahogany is a heavy wood, after all, plus who knows what might be inside\u2014but it\u2019s not. She could bounce it up and down on her tented fingers. Gwendy runs a finger over the glassy, slightly convex surface of the buttons, seeming to almost feel the colors lighting up her skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy? What do they do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll discuss them later. For now, direct your attention to the little levers. They\u2019re much easier to pull than the buttons are to push; your little finger is enough. When you pull the one on the left end\u2014next to the red button\u2014it will dispense a chocolate treat in the shape of an animal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201d Gwendy begins.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t take candy from strangers, I know,\u201d Farris says, and rolls his eyes in a way that makes her giggle. \u201cAren\u2019t we past that, Gwendy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not what I was going to say. I don\u2019t eat chocolate<\/span>, is what I was going to say. Not this summer. How will I ever lose any weight if I eat candy? Believe me, once I start, I can\u2019t stop. And chocolate is the worst. I\u2019m like a chocoholic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, but that\u2019s the beauty of the chocolates the button box dispenses,\u201d says Richard Farris. \u201cThey are small, not much bigger than jelly beans, and very sweet\u2026but after you eat one, you won\u2019t want another. You\u2019ll want your meals, but not seconds on anything. And you won\u2019t want any other treats, either. Especially those late-night waistline killers.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gwendy, until this summer prone to making herself Fluffernutters an hour or so before bedtime, knows exactly what he\u2019s talking about. Also, she\u2019s always starving after her morning runs.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt sounds like some weird diet product,\u201d she says. \u201cThe kind that stuffs you up and then makes you pee like crazy. My granny tried some of that stuff, and it made her sick after a week or so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope. Just chocolate. But pure<\/span>. Not like a candybar from the store. Try it.\u201d<\/p>\n

She debates the idea, but not for long. She curls her pinky around the lever\u2014it\u2019s too small to operate easily with any of the others\u2014and pulls. The slot opens. A narrow wooden shelf slides out. On it is a chocolate rabbit, no bigger than a jellybean, just as Mr. Farris said.<\/p>\n

She picks it up and looks at it with amazed wonder. \u201cWow. Look at the fur<\/span>. The ears<\/span>! And the cute little eyes<\/span>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he agrees. \u201cA beautiful thing, isn\u2019t it? Now pop it in! Quick!\u201d<\/p>\n

Gwendy does so without even thinking about it, and sweetness floods her mouth. He\u2019s right, she never tasted a Hershey bar this good. She can\u2019t remember ever having tasted anything<\/span> this good. That gorgeous flavor isn\u2019t just in her mouth; it\u2019s in her whole head. As it melts on her tongue, the little shelf slides back in, and the slot closes.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cMmm.\u201d It\u2019s all she can manage. If this were ordinary candy, she\u2019d be like a rat in a science experiment, working that little lever until it broke off or until the dispenser stopped dispensing. But she doesn\u2019t want another. And she doesn\u2019t think she\u2019ll be stopping for a Slushee at the snack bar on the far side of the playground, either. She\u2019s not hungry at all. She\u2019s\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you satisfied?\u201d Farris asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes!\u201d That\u2019s the word, all right. She has never been so satisfied with anything, not even the two-wheeler she got for her ninth birthday.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. Tomorrow you\u2019ll probably want another one, and you can have<\/span> another one if you do, because you\u2019ll have the button box. It\u2019s your box, at least for now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many chocolate animals are inside?\u201d<\/p>\n

Instead of answering her question, he invites her to pull the lever at the other end of the box.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes it give a different kind of candy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTry it and see.\u201d<\/p>\n

She curls her pinky around the small lever and pulls it. This time when the shelf slides out of the slot, there\u2019s a silver coin on it, so large and shiny she has to squint against the morning light that bounces off it. She picks it up and the shelf slides back in. The coin is heavy in her hand. On it is a woman in profile. She\u2019s wearing what looks like a tiara. Below her is a semicircle of stars, interrupted by the date: 1891. Above her are the words E Pluribus Unum<\/span>.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is a Morgan silver dollar,\u201d Farris tells her in a lecturely voice. \u201cAlmost half an ounce of pure silver. Created by Mr. George Morgan, who was just thirty years old when he engraved the likeness of Anna Willess Williams, a Philadelphia matron, to go on what you\u2019d call the \u2018heads\u2019 side of the coin. The American Eagle is on the tails side.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful,\u201d she breathes, and then\u2014with huge reluctance\u2014she holds it out to him.<\/p>\n

Farris crosses his hands on his chest and shakes his head. \u201cIt\u2019s not mine, Gwendy. It\u2019s yours. Everything that comes out of the box is yours\u2014the candy and the coins\u2014because the box<\/span> is yours. The current numismatic value of that Morgan dollar is just shy of six hundred dollars, by the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2026I can\u2019t take it,\u201d she says. Her voice is distant in her own ears. She feels (as she did when she first started her runs up the Suicide Stairs two months ago) that she may faint. \u201cI didn\u2019t do anything to earn it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you will.\u201d From the pocket of his black jacket he takes an old-fashioned pocket watch. It shoots more arrows of sun into Gwendy\u2019s eyes, only these are gold instead of silver. He pops up the cover and consults the face within. Then he drops it back into his pocket. \u201cMy time is short now, so look at the buttons and listen closely. Will you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cY-yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFirst, put the silver dollar in your pocket. It\u2019s distracting you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She does as he says. She can feel it against her thigh, a heavy circle.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many continents in the world, Gwendy? Do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven,\u201d she says. They learned that in third or fourth grade.<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly. But since Antarctica is for all practical purposes deserted, it isn\u2019t represented here\u2026except, of course, by the black button, and we\u2019ll get to that.\u201d One after another, he begins to lightly tap the convex surfaces of the buttons that are in pairs. \u201cLight green: Asia. Dark green: Africa. Orange: Europe. Yellow: Australia. Blue: North America. Violet: South America. Are you with me? Can you remember?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d She says it with no hesitation. Her memory has always been good, and she has a crazy idea that the wonderful piece of candy she ate is further aiding her concentration. She doesn\u2019t know what all this means, but can she remember which color represents which continent? Absolutely. \u201cWhat\u2019s the red one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever you want,\u201d he says, \u201cand you will<\/span> want it, the owner of the box always does. It\u2019s normal. Wanting to know things and do things is what the human race is all about. Exploration, Gwendy! Both the disease and the cure!\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m no longer in Castle Rock<\/span>, Gwendy thinks. I\u2019ve entered one of those places I like to read about. Oz or Narnia or Hobbiton. This can\u2019t be happening<\/span>.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust remember,\u201d he continues, \u201cthe red button is the only button you can use more than once.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about the black one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s everything,\u201d Farris says, and stands up. \u201cThe whole shebang.<\/span> The big kahuna, as your father would say.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looks at him, saucer-eyed. Her father does<\/span> say that. \u201cHow do you know my fath\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry to interrupt, very impolite, but I really have to go. Take care of the box. It gives gifts, but they\u2019re small recompense for the responsibility. And be careful. If your parents found it, there would be questions.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my God, would there ever,\u201d Gwendy says, and utters a breathless whisper of a laugh. She feels punched in the stomach. \u201cMr. Farris, why did you give this to me? Why me<\/span>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStashed away in this world of ours,\u201d Farris says, looking down at her, \u201care great arsenals of weapons that could destroy all life on this planet for a million years. The men and women in charge of them ask themselves that same question every day. It is you because you were the best choice of those in this place at this time. Take care of the box. I advise you not to let anyone<\/span> find it, not just your parents, because people are curious. When they see a lever, they want to pull it. And when they see a button, they want to push it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what happens if they do? What happens if I<\/span> do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Richard Farris only smiles, shakes his head, and starts toward the cliff, where a sign reads: BE CAREFUL! CHILDREN UNDER 10 UNACCOMPANIED BY ADULT NOT ALLOWED!<\/span> Then he turns back. \u201cSay! Why do they call them the Suicide Stairs, Gwendy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause a man jumped from them in 1934, or something like that,\u201d she says. She\u2019s holding the button box on her lap. \u201cThen a woman jumped off four or five years ago. My dad says the city council talked about taking them down, but everyone on the council is Republican, and Republicans hate change. That\u2019s what my dad says, anyway. One of them said the stairs are a tourist attraction, which they sort of are, and that one suicide every thirty-five years or so wasn\u2019t really so terrible. He said if it became a fad, they\u2019d take another vote.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Farris smiles. \u201cSmall towns! Gotta love them!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI answered your question, now you answer mine! What happens if I push one of these buttons? What happens if I push the one for Africa, for instance?\u201d And as soon as her thumb touches the dark green button, she feels an urge\u2014not strong, but appreciable\u2014to push it and find out for herself.<\/p>\n

His smile becomes a grin. Not a terribly nice one, in Gwendy Peterson\u2019s opinion. \u201cWhy ask what you already know?\u201d<\/p>\n

Before she can say another word, he\u2019s started down the stairs. She sits on the bench for a moment, then gets up, runs to the rusty iron landing, and peers down. Although Mr. Farris hasn\u2019t had time enough to get all the way to the bottom\u2014nowhere near\u2014he\u2019s gone. Or almost. Halfway down, about a hundred and fifty iron steps, his small neat black hat lies either abandoned or blown off.<\/p>\n

She goes back to the bench and puts the button box\u2014her<\/span> button box\u2014in the canvas drawstring bag, then descends the stairs, holding the railing the whole way. When she reaches the little round hat, she considers picking it up, then kicks it over the side instead, watching it fall, flipping over all the way to the bottom to land in the weeds. When she comes back later that day, it\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n

This is August 22nd, 1974.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview 1 There are three ways up to Castle View from the town of Castle Rock: Route 117, Pleasant Road, and the Suicide Stairs. Every day this summer\u2014yes, even on Sundays\u2014twelve-year-old Gwendy Peterson has taken the stairs, which are held by strong (if time-rusted) iron bolts and zig-zag up the cliffside. She walks the … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6026,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[413],"class_list":["post-6027","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-stephen-king"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6027","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6027"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6027\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6026"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6027"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6027"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6027"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}