No, this isn't a creative shot of that one stray doll someone always finds in a creepy location.
The entire forsaken island is covered in broken, rotted, decapitated old dolls. Hence it's name, 'Island of the Dolls'
Isla de las Munecas started out with good intentions, as many creepy places do. The island’s only occupant, Don Julian Santana, found the body of a drowned girl in the canals of Xochimico near Mexico City some 50 years ago. He was heartbroken and disturbed by her death, so when he founda doll floating by in the canal soon after, thinking it was hers, he placed it in a tree to please the girl's spirit, and to hopefully shield the island from being haunted by her or any other vengeful souls.
As what usually happens to those who live alone, Santana soon developed an obsession. Convinced one doll in a tree was not enough, he continued to snatch up any dolls, or doll parts, that floated past in the canal, and hang them somewhere on the island. It soon became less about the girl, and more about easing his own tortured soul, and he began wandering from home to tear through trash for more parts, and even started trading his home grown crops for dolls.
Man, it's..... it's good I'm not freaked out by dolls, or.... or this would get hard to write...
*clears throat* Anyway... The tale becomes even more depressing in 2001 when Don Julian drowned in the same canal as the little girl did. People said that the dolls, possessed by tortured spirits, murdered the old man out of fury for him gathering such a collection. A far more likely story is that Santana’s death was an accident... even though he'd lived there for so many years and was a talented swimmer...
Getting to the island is laborious and exhausting, but witnessing all the dolls and the disturbing manner they now all hang is an incredible sight. The majority of the dolls were given up by their previous owners due to being worn out and broken, which made Santana pity the poor toys all the more. Now, they hang from trees, fences, buildings and wires, serving as homes for insects and spiders, and creeping the ever loving hell out of visitors, who often choose to leave their own dolls, thereby carrying on Santana's work, long after his death, and perhaps easing his own tortured soul in the process.
Alright, I get it, lots of messed up creepy dolls. I'm out.