The garden looked different at night.
Especially in moonlight.
Shadows stretched across the lawn like long, spindly arms reaching out, trying to grab whatever was there. They never managed to.
No. The grabbing was done by the other things. Them. The dwellers.
The moon lit the path to an extent, but not completely. The shadows took control of more than half, and the dwellers lurked within the shadows.
If you were unlucky, if you were in the wrong place, you’d be grabbed.
They like legs. They go for legs. They snag legs.
Come summer, the thorns will have to go.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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