The (Mis)adventures of Jyl: Safety Harbor

This week, Jyl reminds us that the best adventures rarely begin with a good plan and sometimes they end at a safe harbor…

Welcome back, misadventurers! In the most Jyl move ever, I turned “What should I do for the Fourth of July?” into “I just bought a plane ticket” in the span of about ten minutes. And then I trusted Future Jyl to figure out the rest. And Future Jyl fully understood the assignment and spent an evening wandering around a small waterfront town looking for ghosts.

At first glance, Safety Harbor doesn’t seem like the kind of town that would have much to hide. Downtown is filled with locally owned shops, waterfront restaurants, and enough palm trees to convince you that you no longer need your blood pressure medication. It feels almost too cheerful to belong on a haunted history tour, which is exactly what makes it so interesting.

Ironically, the oldest story in Safety Harbor is also the one you can’t actually see. Beneath the Safety Harbor Resort and Spa flow the Espiritu Santo Springs, mineral springs that have drawn people to this spot for centuries. Long before there was a hotel, the Tocobaga considered the waters sacred and believed they held healing properties. When Spanish explorers arrived in 1539, they named them the Springs of the Holy Spirit. Over time, the area became tangled in legends of the Fountain of Youth, and whether those stories were fact or folklore mattered less than the hope they inspired. People came believing the water could make them well.

Today, the springs remain hidden beneath the resort. There is no bubbling pool to photograph or historic spring to visit, only the knowledge that somewhere beneath your feet, the reason Safety Harbor exists is still quietly flowing.

The springs eventually gave rise to the Safety Harbor Resort and Spa, which opened in 1925 to welcome visitors hoping to “take the waters.” Many arrived believing the mineral springs beneath the building could restore their health. Perhaps that’s why so many ghost stories have attached themselves to the resort.

Guests and employees have reported footsteps echoing through empty hallways, shadowy figures that disappear before anyone can get a closer look, and phones ringing in vacant rooms. None of it has ever been proven, but after nearly a century of visitors passing through the same halls, it’s easy to understand how the resort became the center of Safety Harbor’s haunted folklore. Standing outside, though, it looks far more likely to offer a facial than a haunting, which may be exactly why the stories work so well.

A short walk away stands the Baranoff Oak, although “stands” hardly seems like the right word for something so enormous. Estimated to be between 300 and 500 years old, the sprawling live oak dominates the park with massive limbs stretching in every direction. The town has fenced off the entire tree to protect it, making it feel less like a landmark and more like a treasured piece of history. Standing beside it, you can’t help but feel small. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, there is something humbling about looking up at a living thing that has quietly watched centuries of history unfold.

My final stop was the marina, or at least it was supposed to be. The marina itself was closed for repairs, but the neighboring park remained open, giving me a perfect view across Old Tampa Bay. As the sun slowly disappeared below the horizon, it felt like the perfect ending to an afternoon spent following stories about sacred springs, unexplained footsteps, and centuries-old witnesses.

Safety Harbor’s ghost stories aren’t built around abandoned hospitals or infamous murder houses. They’re woven into places people have valued for generations: healing water hidden beneath a historic resort, an ancient oak protected for future generations, and a quiet harbor where people have long come seeking refuge.

Whether Safety Harbor is truly haunted is up to you to decide. I didn’t encounter any ghosts during my visit, but I did spend part of my trip standing over hidden springs, exploring a possibly haunted resort, staring up at a tree that’s quietly witnessed centuries of history, and watching the sunset over the bay.

Maybe that’s why I keep saying yes to impulsive trips. Because sometimes the best stories start with “Why not?”

Jyl Glenn is a writer, editor, formatter, anthologist, poet, and a medical-legal writer and consultant. Her lifelong love affair with horror began at a very early age when she was left unattended on the weekend Poltergeist debuted on HBO. And then she figured out she could read any horror book she liked as long as she hung out at the public library, even if the librarian deemed it not to be age appropriate. Jyl was born and raised in New York and now lives in Tulsa with her dog and kitten. She loves creepy art, dark poetry, and pink dinosaurs. When she isn’t dabbling in the macabre—she’s most likely asleep.

PLEASE NOTE: The views and opinions of the staff of Memento Mori Ink do not necessarily represent those of Memento Mori Ink or Crystal Lake Publishing, nor do the views or opinions of Crystal Lake necessarily represent those of Memento Mori Ink or its staff. Thank you for understanding.