From a distance, it looked like a dismembered hand. Well, not exactly. But the lone work glove abandoned on the sidewalk crept into my imagination on stealthy fingertips, reminding of me of too many horror stories from my childhood.
There was one in particular about an artist who loses his dominant (drawing) hand in an accident and the hand comes back to haunt him, drawing evil cartoons and strangling various people. The hand goes on a killing spree and the man is helpless.
In fiction there are all sorts of enchanted objects — some with scary, evil powers and others with a more benign consciousness. I grew up in a family that occasionally assigned names and personalities to inanimate things. My father named the car Eroica — after Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3. She was a temperamental old car. I loved that car — once I learned how to handle her stalling out in crosswalks and that she really, really liked to go fast on the highway out to the beach. (That car was truly happy going 85 mph.)
Enchanted mirrors serve as doorways between dimensions, magical rings bestow power on the wearer, haunted treasure chests contain secrets along with pirate booty and magic carpets fly through the skies.
Does this lonely glove inspire you?