…When close to his right hand a heap of grey stones and a rocky ledge reminding him that he could make, if he shifted a few stones, a shelter till the daylight broke. But while he fumbled with the stones they toppled over, ‘were it not I have a lucky wooden shin I had been hurt’; and toppling brought before his eyes, where stones had been, a dark deep hole in the rock’s face. He gave a gasp and thought to run, being certain it was no right place but the Hellmouth at Cruachan that’s stuffed with all that’s old and bad, and yet stood still, because inside he had seen a red-haired jolly lad in some outlandish coat beside a ladle and a tub of beer, plainly no phantom by his look. So with a laugh at his own fear, he crawled into that pleasant nook.
William Butler Yeats, Responsibilities (1994)