And now for a twist of horror.

The face of a patchwork cat grins on the twisted body of the demon, Calica. The feline face is made of multiple different wet, cracked leathers stitched together poorly, leaving rips in the gnarled skin and flesh, and breeding disgust and infection. His fur is matted with draining blood and the stench of illness, and his eyes, never blinking, are an eerie, glossy orange, perfectly clear, perfectly domed ovals, like two unholy glass buttons, staring straight through the clothes and flesh and bone, into the hearts of even the strongest men. Attached by a patchwork neck of mangy fur, a vaguely humanoid body hangs like dead weight from the gallows noose, pale and sickly, patchwork and bony as if pulled from the grave piece by piece and stitched together with steel wire. In Calica's bleeding, patchwork, doll-like hand there rests a needle as long as a man's middle finger and slightly curved, and trailing after it is a glittering thread of woven tears and drops of unholy blood. The dead weight body hangs from the feline mask and dangles between the doll-like hands like a fleshy puppet, only occasionally lurching to life to catch itself as the fingers and face dictate every movement. The tongueless mouth remains open in its cracked grin, only occasionally moving.

Calica, a demon of fear, reaches into the minds of men and stitches their own worst enemies within their mind into reality.

This is Calica, or as I originally just called him The Patchwork Demon. He has gone through a few redesigns and rediscovers, and yet at his base he has remained the same. A creature of illusion and pain, he delights in bringing fears to life, stitching fantasy into existence.

He has his methods, though, he is not entirely unpredictably destructive like many demons. Calica almost always picks just a single target at a time, just one mind to play with, to show himself to. The incorporeal beast allows only his target to see him, and in many cases only they can see the monsters he creates. He is also not a fool, nor does he endanger himself for such things like pride. If he finds himself up against a challenge to great, he has the good sense to turn and run- after all, most predators will go for the weak and for the injured.
He is a nasty, vile spirit, a monster, there is not a drop of good or mercy in him. He is an entirely unsympathetic horror, and his motivations are simple. The more people he inspires to fear him, the more power he wields. He does not prey on the individual, however, to draw fear from the individual he targets. He does it to put fear into everyone else around them who watches them go about their short life with wide, terrified eyes, inexplicable wounds, and insanity slowly bubbling to the forefront of their brain. He preys on the individual and watches those outside as they wonder who will be next, who will be the next target, and if anyone will ever devise a way to get rid of him.

He has been a nasty presence in my mind for a while, and honestly a pretty fun one. I like to play around with this monster, knowing he's a totally unsympathetic bastard that I don't have to feel sorry for when horrible things happen to him, and it's genuinely fun to imagine these nightmare scenes that he works up. He's disgustingly powerful, but thankfully his motivations are so simple that it makes him manageable as a monster. He's not going to be the one who starts plagues or floods or the end of the world. That would be boring, because then there wouldn't be anyone left to play with.