Frightening Friday -- Isla de las Muñecas (Island of the Dolls)

Photo courtesy of Esparta via Flickr

Dolls. I've never been a big fan of dolls because I think they're creepy. Their blank stares, frozen expressions, predatory smiles...yeah, it's creepy.

Just south of Mexico City and between the canals of Xochimilco, there is a small island known as Isla de las Munecas (Island of the Dolls). As if one doll wasn't creepy enough, here you have a whole island of decapitated doll heads, arms and bodies; weathered by the elements and home to spiders and everything else. Oh, and did I mention? The dolls that populate the island have been put there to appease the spirit of a dead little girl and are reputedly haunted.

Don Julian Santana Barrera was a hermit who lived on the island. The story goes that he witnessed a little girl who drowned and was unable to save her. Seeing a doll floating in the canal, he hung it in a tree as a way of showing respect for her spirit. Shortly thereafter, Don Julian claimed he was haunted by the little girl and began hanging more dolls in an attempt to appease her. After 50 years of collecting dolls and hanging them around the island, Julian was found dead, drowned in the same spot where he found the little girl. 

After Don Julian’s death in 2001, the island became a tourist attraction run by members of his family. Local legend says that the dolls move their arms, heads and open their eyes. Some witnesses claim to hear the dolls whispering to one another. There are even those who claim the dolls have lured them to visit the island. 

Here's a short video to get an idea what the island looks like now. A trip to the Isla de las Muñecas is not on a regular tourist route. If you want to visit, you'll have to hire a private boat and the trip takes about two hours. Any takers?

Frightening Friday-Doll Parts, A Christmas Story

Continuing with my "photo-inspired" short story week...

Photo courtesy of Moyan_Brenn via Flickr

Doll Parts, A Christmas Story

"I think you'll like this piece." The shopkeeper led Nick into the dark recesses of the antique store. "It was from an estate sale. Took us forever to find the key for the cabinet. It was in a sealed vase. Even so, we never could get the lock to open."

He pulled a threadbare quilt aside. A worn, wooden cabinet stood. Inside the cabinet, was a plethora of dolls. Naked bodies were missing their appendages; the ripped-off arms and legs in savage disarray. Eyes stared lifelessly through the glass. Tufts of hair littered the corners. Plastic skin had been flayed from several skeletal structures. It was if the dolls had been cast aside by some masochist child. Or they had been stacked and put on display; the unfortunate trophies of a serial killer.

"My wife says it's 'objet d'art.' "  The shopkeeper gave a tired shrug.  "I think it was just someone's collection. But they'd be a good start if you're looking for toys to fix and resell."

"Not resell," Nick corrected. "To give away as gifts."

There was a small rustle from within the cabinet. The doll heads turned to face him, their lips moving in a silent plea. Let us out, Nick. Let us out.

Nick stepped back, his thoughts in disarray. The doll parts continued to twitch and shudder. Bent legs kicked at an invisible assailant. Clasping fingers were frozen in supplication.

"Did you want to try the key yourself?" The shopkeeper reached into the pocket of his over-sized sweater. "Maybe you can get it to work."

"No." His strangled reply barely escaped his lips.

Let us out, Nick. The glass on the cabinet shook, as if the dolls were seeking escape. Please!

Nick glanced at the shopkeeper, who seemed unmoved by their pleas. Maybe he doesn't see. But how can that be? He's looking right at them. 

Only you can see, Nick. The doll's child-like voices whispered desperately against the glass. Their torsos shifted, spines twisting this-way-and-that. Dismembered arms and legs rolled to the sides. Fingers scratched against the wood of the cabinet in an attempt to escape. Let us out. 

"You seem like you're a nice guy." The shopkeeper pursed his lips thoughtfully as he eyed the cabinet. "Let's say...fifty even. Clean them up, snap them back together, a little plaster to cover the damage. Good as new."

Nick turned and fled. The doll voices followed him, worming their way into his brain like beetles.

Frightening Friday-Dolls

Photo courtesy of xandert via morgueFile

There's nothing quite so freaky as dolls. Yes, yes, I know there are tons of people who love dolls. I'm not one of them. Perhaps it's the frozen look of manic happiness on their faces or their soulless eyes, but seeing them staring at you from a shelf across the room is enough to make me want to run screaming.

My dislike of dolls turned into fear when I saw the movie Trilogy of Terror as a kid. Remember that one? As if blank-faced Barbies weren't freaky enough, the movie was about a little tribal doll who comes to life when its evil spirit is unwittingly released. The movie is laughable by today's standards of horror, but to an 11-year-old, it was terrifying.

After I saw that movie, my Malibu Barbie was banished into the closet. My stuffed animals could stay because I knew they'd behave, but Malibu had to go. This crushed my mother. My mother loved dolls. In fact, she made and collected dolls.  Rag dolls, clay dolls, even those labor-intensive bisque dolls that took weeks to make. She was always trying to give them to me. I tolerated Malibu Barbie because she had a tan (something I'd never have) but any other doll was a definite no. That was irony laughing at the two of us, I suppose.

So, here you go--a clip from Trilogy of Terror. Laugh away....or not.