Mini lights,
mini lights,
come out tonight.
Do you dare to say it thrice?
Despite being born and raised in St. Pete, I had not heard of the mini lights urban legend until my wife and I moved to Roser Park two years ago. Walking around Roser — a small and still-eclectic neighborhood despite its steady gentrification — I asked various neighbors: Have you heard of the mini lights?
I got mixed responses, though not one person volunteered to repeat the chant the three times required in order to conjure up the spirits of the minis.
Like many tales passed down through oral tradition, the legend of the mini lights has multiple versions. Though the exact location and names vary slightly depending on whom you ask, the most-oft agreed upon version of the folktale goes something like this: Residing under the bridge alongside Booker Creek in Historic Roser Park, tiny green people (the “mini lights”) await in the dark. Some sources say the little people were part of a circus from centuries past; others say the creatures belonged to a voodoo priestess who once lived in Roser Park.
All agree on one thing, though: Any time someone calls out “Mini lights, mini lights, come out tonight” three times, the minis will chase them down.
While the majority of my neighbors have indeed heard the legend, the source of their knowledge varies. Those who have lived in Roser Park for generations are well-versed. However much truth it holds, the story was traditionally told to local kids as a cautionary tale:
Do not enter the park after dark.
Recently, the mini lights legend has risen in popularity. The Tampa Bay Times wrote an article about it in 2016 and longtime local muralists the Vitale Brothers are currently making a “skater horror film” skater horror film” based on the folktale. The Vitale Brothers’ fund-raising campaign has been an overwhelming success and Roser residents have already seen evidence of filming.
I walk along Booker Creek regularly. With its broad brick roads, hundred-plus-year-old oaks and sloping hills that belie the fact we are just blocks away from downtown St. Pete, Roser Park is quiet and serene and just different somehow. Spend an hour lounging in the grassy hills by the creek and you have a fair chance of seeing a bald eagle or otters; even manatees are known to drift by.
Stay after sunset, though, and a certain eeriness descends. The sense of solitude celebrated just hours prior grows spooky all of a sudden; something feels “off.” The quiet is no longer soothing. The animals have disappeared, and it seems I should, too.
Has anyone actually seen the mini lights? Nobody I have met, though a few know someone who knows someone who has. I toy with the idea of walking through Roser after dark; my dad and I consider a night hike down the streets and into neighboring Greenwood Cemetery. Ultimately I decide I’d rather not take my chances. I guess the superstition is beginning to sink in.
The mini lights legend (and its evolution) speaks volumes about the history of development in south St. Pete. You can tell a lot about a place by the way its folktales are told; even more by focusing on who is doing the telling. I am intrigued to see the Vitale Brothers’ film. I am hopeful the story will be done justice.
When asked whether or not our neighborhood is “safe” by potential buyers who spend Sunday afternoons driving slowly down the streets now full of construction company signs and freshly cleared lots reeking of recently chopped oak, I can guess at what I’m really being asked. Yes, there is some crime; no, we don’t want to move. My wife and I describe the ups and the downs, the strong sense of community, and the tensions sometimes felt.
We never mention the mini lights.
On a recent visit to the park with our dogs, Steph and I pause at the sound of a car full of teenagers yelling out.
“Mini lights, mini lights, come out tonight.”
Upon seeing us, the teens pull to a stop and ask if we’ve heard of the legend; if we think it’s real. I smile, shrug my shoulders and wink.
