The Legend of the Tooth Mouse:
A Family Tradition Imported to Ohio
The tooth fairy is a celebrated legend in much of the world. So, too, is the tooth mouse.
My dad was born to a Sicilian immigrant. Growing up, they were told of “the little white tooth mouse.” Much like the tooth fairy, when a child lost a baby tooth and placed it under a pillow at night, he’d wake up to find that the tooth mouse had replaced it with a coin.
Although Dad shared his childhood tale of the tooth mouse with my sister and me, our household went with the American standard – the tooth fairy.
When I had kids of my own, I decided to reintroduce the tooth mouse tradition of my Dad’s childhood, but with a twist. First, I discovered the tooth mouse went by different names throughout the world. In Italian, the name was Topino.
When my kids began losing their baby teeth, they learned a hybrid story I came up with to make the tooth fairy and tooth mouse coexist. I told the kids that their grandpa had a mouse named Topino in his house when they were growing up. He came over on a boat from Sicily with my grandpa through Ellis Island en route to Cleveland, Ohio, along with the Satullo family. Topino’s job was to check the children’s teeth every night, and when he found a wiggler, he’d put the tooth fairy on high alert. She’s very busy, so it is helpful to have a tooth mouse in the house to give her a heads-up so she could better plan her route each night. A tooth would be exchanged with a coin by the tooth mouse and a dollar bill by the tooth fairy. When the child grew up, so did his tooth mouse. The tooth mouse would have baby mice, all named Topino. When the kids started their own families, a Topino would move in with each of them.
My son, Dominic, not only believed in Topino; he was so intrigued that he took things to a new level.
One night, my wife came into our room after replacing the tooth with a coin and a bill and handed me a note. Our son was asking the tooth mouse questions like, “What does he look like?” Where does he live? What else does he like to do? And can he read this?
So began a strange pen pal relationship between me and my son.
Our minds worked together to open a whole new world. It didn’t matter whether a tooth was loose or not; I had to check his desk to see if a letter had been left for Topino in the usual place. The fun wrapped around this communication between father and son was something for the ages. There were great adventures, head-scratching questions, revelations and more.
One of Dominic’s favorite storylines was the mischief Topino would get into when he’d play with my son’s toys at night. One time we awoke to a toy car stuck in the chandelier (hee-hee). Topino also seemed to be in the same life situations as my son, so they’d talk about them back and forth.
Until one day it stopped.
We had carried on writing letters for over a year. Sure, there were some pauses at times between letters, so when they stopped altogether, I was slow to notice. Finally, I asked if my son still sent Topino letters. My son showed me the last letter he wrote that went unanswered.
“Why did you put it here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
It was not where I assumed we had mutually agreed on as the designated spot. So, I explained why Topino may have missed the note. Dominic moved the note to the old spot, and when Topino answered, there was more to his not finding the letter than it just being in the wrong spot for Topino; too, it was in the wrong spot!
My boy came bursting downstairs the next morning with a wad of papers in hand.
“Look – look, Topino, he’s back!”
“Whattaya mean, back?” I asked coyly.
“He hid in my bag the last time we went to Avon Lake to visit Grandma and Grandpa. It took him forever to get back, and he waited a long time after that for me to write him. He didn’t know I did because I used a different spot for the letter, so you were right about that, Dad. I can’t wait to hear about his adventure!”
So there were stories that lasted nearly another year. One day, Dominic was horrified when I pointed out the mouse poison in the garage and cautioned him to stay clear of it. I had to convince him that I bought a special blend that targets unwanted mice versus a beloved tooth mouse like Topino. He preferred all mice live. I had other ideas, considering the bag of seed they feasted on all winter.
Eventually, it ended as most childhood fairytales end: by just growing too old to believe anymore. But the twist on Topino was that both of our kids assumed this legend was as common as the Easter Bunny in their friends’ households. So as older kids, they were taken aback when friends would give them a blank stare when asked about their tooth mouse growing up.
Who knows, maybe it’ll grow into an Ohio legend. 😉
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun
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Field Journal Entry #17:
Contrary to popular belief, Ohio’s Grassman appears less concerned with being discovered than with being interrupted.
A Fictional Story About The Real Legend of The Ohio Grassman
Searching for Ohio’s Grassman
Field Journal Entry 17 – Author Unknown
Salt Fork State Park in Guernsey County, Ohio
I arrived just after sunrise.
Mist still clung to the coves of Salt Fork Lake as the first rays of sunlight slipped through the hardwoods. Somewhere in these 17,000 acres of forest lives one of Ohio’s oldest legends or so the stories claim.
I’m not here expecting to find Bigfoot.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Around these parts, they rarely call the creature Bigfoot anyway. To the locals, it’s simply the Grassman.
The nickname fascinated me long before I ever packed my hiking boots. Unlike the towering Sasquatch of the Pacific Northwest, Ohio’s giant supposedly builds crude shelters from woven grasses, reeds and branches hidden deep in the woods. Whether anyone has truly found one is another matter altogether, but the stories have lingered for generations.
Legends usually survive because they contain just enough mystery to keep people talking.
The trail was quiet.
Too quiet.
I quickly discovered something about hiking alone in a forest this large.
Every snapping twig becomes a question.
Every squirrel sounds much larger than it actually is.
Every shadow deserves a second glance.
It’s easy to understand how stories are born in places like this.
The reports I’ve read over the years are surprisingly consistent.
Witnesses describe a towering figure standing seven or eight feet tall, covered in dark hair, with unusually long arms that swing nearly to its knees. Massive footprints occasionally appear in muddy creek beds, only to disappear before anyone can explain them.
Others never actually see anything.
Instead, they describe an overwhelming silence.
The birds stop singing.
The woods seem to hold their breath.
Then comes that unmistakable feeling that someone is watching.
I haven’t experienced that.
Not yet.
Salt Fork has become the epicenter of Ohio’s Bigfoot legend.
Since the 1980s, dozens of reported sightings have drawn curious hikers, investigators, television crews and believers hoping to glimpse what countless others claim they’ve seen.
The park doesn’t shy away from its reputation.
Today, Bigfoot festivals, educational hikes and conferences celebrate the folklore that has become woven into Salt Fork’s identity almost as tightly as the trees themselves.
Whether visitors believe isn’t nearly as important as whether they wonder.
By midafternoon, I’d logged several miles.
Plenty of deer tracks.
A wild turkey.
One curious raccoon.
No giant footprints.
No woven grass shelters.
No mysterious creatures peeking from behind ancient oaks.
Honestly…
I was beginning to think the Grassman had taken the day off.
Then something happened.
Not dramatic.
Not the sort of thing you’d expect at the climax of a monster story.
The forest simply became… still.
No breeze.
No birds.
No insects.
Just silence.
It lasted perhaps thirty seconds.
Maybe a minute.
Then, as quickly as it arrived, life returned.
A woodpecker hammered somewhere in the distance.
Leaves rustled overhead.
The moment passed.
There are perfectly reasonable explanations for what happened.
I know that.
Still…
I’ve thought about those thirty seconds ever since.
Science has never confirmed the existence of Bigfoot.
No skeleton has ever been authenticated.
No DNA sample has settled the debate.
No photograph has convinced everyone.
Skeptics point to bears, poor lighting, mistaken identity and the remarkable power of suggestion.
Believers simply smile and remind us that not every mystery is meant to be solved.
As I packed my notebook and headed back toward the trailhead, I glanced over my shoulder one last time.
Not because I’d heard anything.
Not because I’d seen anything.
Because somewhere deep inside every explorer is the hope that the next turn in the trail might reveal something extraordinary.
I never found the Grassman.
Or perhaps…
The Grassman simply chose not to be found.
— End of Journal Entry
This fictional story in the form of a journal entry is about the real legend of the Ohio Grassman, by Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun
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I sat by my grandpa on a pier in Huron, Ohio, fishing. My dad, his brothers, and my cousins were scattered about.
“Have you ever heard about the Lake Erie Monster?” He asked.
I looked up slowly and said a little shakily, “T-h-e … wh-a-a-a-t??
Most sightings of one of Ohio’s most famous cryptids (an animal whose existence has not been scientifically proven) have occurred in the western basin of Lake Erie.
“The water around the Lake Erie islands is shallow. Many shipwrecks lie beneath those waves. The survivors of one in the 1800s said it wasn’t the shoals or storm, it was a giant serpent that blasted a hole in their hull…” Grandpa began the tale.
The sightings date back to the early 1800s. The last one was in the 1990s. Somewhere in the timeline, this 30–40-foot-long brown, black, or gray serpent (according to various reports) was adorably named Bessie. Her nickname is believed to be a playful adaptation similar to “Nessie,” the famous monster of Scotland’s Loch Ness.
“The deadly creature moves so smoothly with the waves that it’s almost never seen. But in this shallow area of the lake, when storms kick up, the water turns choppy, leaving little in one area so it can swell in others. And it’s in those nearly waterless trenches that the Lake Erie Monster can’t hide!”
“Dad, stop scaring the kid, or you’ll have to answer to his mom if he keeps her up all night!”
Notable Sightings are on record as early as 1817, when crew members aboard a ship shared a similar description of the startling image rising from the water, prompting them to take a closer look. In return, the monster took a good look at them, perhaps seeing its first ship. In 1892, several fishermen reported seeing a large creature with a long body and unusual movement, unlike known fish. It didn’t appear again until 1969. That’s when a widely publicized sighting involved multiple people reporting a large, serpent-like creature near the western basin of Lake Erie. Newspaper coverage helped renew public interest, and the legend grew. Several more sightings were reported around the Toledo and Sandusky areas, since then, helping keep the story alive in modern times.
Grandpa winked at me and said, “No worries, kiddo, this is a monster that’ll never be under your bed.”
“Da-a-a-a-ad!”
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun
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The legend of the Loveland Frogman is one of Ohio’s most enduring cryptid tales. It is reported to be a frogman, frogmen, or lizardman. In any case, it’s a 3-foot-tall humanoid frog-like creature lurking at night.
It was first sighted in 1955 by a traveling businessman in Loveland, Ohio, along the rural banks of the Little Miami River. In fact, his account described three short, bipedal humanoids with frog-like heads, bulging eyes, and lizard-like skin. Legend has it that he even reported seeing one of them wielding a glowing rod.
His story would spark one of Ohio’s most enduring legends.
But the folklore of this bizarre creature grew legs.
In 1972, two police officers, in separate incidents, were said to have reported seeing something very unusual lurking on the banks of the Little Miami River. One officer said that when he approached what he thought was an injured animal on the side of the road, it stood upright on two legs, gazed his way, and leaped the guardrail into the river. The other officer’s report stated that the creature had rough, bumpy skin and froglike facial features.
Sightings of the Loveland Frogman have been reported as recently as 2016! While playing Pokémon Go, a man claimed that a four-foot creature stood on hind legs before disappearing into Lake Isabella, which feeds into the Little Miami River just outside Loveland, Ohio.
Following these multiple encounters, decades apart, investigative skeptics sought to debunk what was widely believed to be nothing more than a myth conjured by the imagination. They chalked it up to a large iguana or misidentified wildlife, casting a startling image in the moonlit shadows.
Yet, the legend persists.
The Loveland Frogman is kept alive today through campfire stories, late-night drives, and nighttime walks along the river, often with a wink and nod of the cryptid lurking along the banks of the Little Miami River. It has become a staple of local lore and has inspired music, trading cards, and even a movie that reflects the legend.
The science fiction mystery novel, The Man from Primrose Lane by James Renner features a version of the Loveland Frog. The Loveland Frog legend was made into a musical that played at the Art Academy of Cincinnati’s 2014 Cincinnati Fringe Festival. It was titled Hot Damn! It’s the Loveland Frog. And in 2023, the horror film Frogmen was released.
The Frogman became Loveland, Ohio’s official city mascot in 2023. And in 2026, an Ohio representative introduced legislation to name the Loveland Frogman as the state’s official cryptid.
So, if you find yourself in Loveland, Ohio, at night, be sure to speak the language of the locals: RIBBIT!
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun
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True or Untrue: Introducing Whispers of Ohio
Welcome to our Ohio travel blog, Whispers of Ohio. Here, you’ll learn about legends and lore. But for an opener, let’s play the game of True or Untrue, where three strange stories are offered, but only one is true.
Ready? Here we go…
There’s something about Ohio that doesn’t always sit quietly in history books. Maybe it’s the fog that hangs a little too long over back roads…
Maybe it’s the stories passed down just enough to feel real…
Or maybe—just maybe—some of these tales never stopped happening at all.
So let’s have a little fun.
Below are three tales pulled from the curious corners of the Buckeye State.
One is true. Two are… well… you decide.
Melon Heads
Deep in the wooded outskirts near Kirtland, there are whispers of small, human-like figures with oversized, bulbous heads. They roam the forest just beyond where the pavement ends. Legend claims they were once children, patients of a reclusive doctor who experimented on them decades ago. The treatments, meant to “enhance intelligence,” left them deformed… and eventually abandoned. Locals say if you drive slowly at night, headlights cutting through the trees, you might catch a glimpse—just for a second—of something watching from the brush. They don’t approach. They just… observe.
The Grave of Ray Chapman
In Cleveland, the story goes, the spirit of Ray Chapman never quite left the field. Chapman, the only player in Major League history to be killed by a pitched ball in 1920, is buried in Lake View Cemetery. And every ten years—on the anniversary of that fateful game—there have been reports…
A voice. Faint. Gravelly. Close to the ground. Visitors standing near his headstone claim they’ve heard it whispered: “…Ball four…” Moments later, a baseball—old, scuffed, and impossibly placed—rolls slowly from a nearby bush… as if nudged by something unseen.
The Legend of Seashell Sally
Along the shores of Lake Erie, sailors once spoke of a woman known only as “Seashell Sally.”
They say she was the beloved of a Great Lakes captain who vanished during a violent storm in the 1890s. Refusing to believe he was lost, Sally returned to the shoreline day after day, scanning the horizon. Until one evening… she walked into the water and never came back. Since then, on certain quiet nights when the lake lies still as glass, fishermen claim to see her—standing just beyond the break, dress drifting like sea foam.
One of these tales is rooted in a real Ohio legend. Two were spun from the shadows. But the thing about “Whispers from Ohio” is that the line between truth and tale isn’t so easy to spot.
So, which of the three stories above is a bona fide Ohio legend?
ANSWER
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