This mortal terror being at the height of what a person can stand is suitable for comparison to the dread of missing the essay’s morning deadline–for argument’s sake, we’ll call it 8:00. Class meets at 10 and the prof wants to know ahead of time who made it and who failed. (Something of a deadly situation.)
The dread and the panic, the last-minute writing. The fear of the dark and then the godforsaken ghost girl holding a doll, looking just past you, then once you’re cowering it screams directly at you–in anger and stale fear of its own condition. The girl is well past the pitiable stage: she only seeks to inflict this conflict upon you in an instant of mental–existential–turmoil.