creepypasta origins

Harpy

WARNINGS: NONE

"Dad!" said a small voice next to my ear. "Harpy's back!"

I rolled over with a grunt of exertion and looked up into the boy's face.

"Daniel," I said slowly, "We've been over this. There is no Harpy."

"Yes there is! She won't go!"

"Daniel..."

"Harpy, dad!"

"Alright, so what's Harpy doing this time?"

"Making the crib rock."

"That's probably just the wind, Danny. Go back to bed."

"No, it's Harpy! I can see her!"

"Just go with him, Mark," murmured the voice of my wife reproachfully, "We'll all sleep better if you do."

Mildly exasperated, but knowing she was right, I pushed myself up by one elbow and let my feet hit the floor.

Standing before me, his thumb lodged firmly in his mouth and his light brown hair mildly askew, my son Daniel gave me an expectant look and then dashed out of the room. I heaved myself out of bed and followed him.

My son's bedroom was, as I expected, empty. The crib sat completely still. Nevertheless, Daniel was cowering just outside the door, as if trying to avoid eye contact with a wild animal. I turned to look at him with one quirked eyebrow.

"No one here, Daniel."

"Say it, dad!"

I shrugged and raised my voice, "Get out, Harpy, this isn't your house!"

It was then that I noticed something odd. The bed sheets in the crib had been disturbed. I dismissed it. My son had moved to what he called the "big kids' bed" scarcely over a year ago, and for all I knew, habit had made him try to crawl back into the crib after a trip to the bathroom, or something. In fact, that had probably been what was responsible for the rocking. Still, my little anti-Harpy catchphrase seemed to have done its work. Daniel was now waiting in "the big kids' bed," apparently without even the slightest trace of fear. I walked over to him and, wearily, kissed his forehead. He giggled.

"Love you daddy."

"Love you, Daniel."

And that was it.

I know what you're thinking. Harpy's probably the ghost of some dead kid who died in my house, murdered by her parents and seeking revenge, right? Well, sorry to disappoint you. Our house was just finished five years ago, before my wife and I had Daniel. And we couldn't afford any old, creepy heirlooms, or vintage furniture, or fancy architecture that requires ancient quarried stone. This house was built using brand new material, and furnished with freshly constructed furniture from IKEA and Amazon. Hell, Daniel's older than most of the stuff in here. No one died here. They wouldn't have had time.

No, the fact is, I'm just like any other dad with an imaginative child. Daniel's just imaginative in a weirder way than most. The kid will probably end up a horror author to rival Stephen King one day, the way he's going. And since you folks like creepy shit, I figure I may as well tell you some of the stuff he's come up with. What harm can it do? At least this way I've got someplace to vent, and if you folks don't think his little fantasy is up to par for the stuff on here, well, at least I'll be able to tell him even folks on the internet aren't scared of Harpy. He doesn't believe me or his mother, so maybe hearing some of your comments will talk him out of it. Oh, and by the way, if any of you are parents, maybe give me some idea of what to do? This shit is getting so far out of hand that I'm starting to get a little creeped out myself.