" But the landscape seemed bewitched; rocks had become heads of creatures growing up out of the ground, bushes were fingers that scratched at his legs and dwarf birch trees were witches bent with laughter as they pointed the way, here or there, the way home or the way to perdition, the way to his grandmother’s house or the way to the Pit. "

― Jo Nesbø , The Snowman (Harry Hole, #7)