I like how you write. The mysterious, unknown things and beings lurking out of sight are still things and people, with their own reasons for being what they are and doing what they do. All fear stems from a lack of understanding, after all.

And, ironically, the only truly wrong thing you've ever written about was a mass-produced plastic duck (see: Tales of the Awkward - The Tarn). Something omnipresent, yet empty. Things that mean things to people can be said to have a soul of a sort. Things that don't, don't. But Mr. Ducky, that vapid thing, has a hole where a soul should be. It bobs on the Tarn because the Tarn is gagging on it.