I really enjoy taking walks in my neighborhood this time of year.

The temperature is comfortably in the 60s (my body’s favorite no-sweat, no chill range). The leaves have already turned from green to gold. They float to earth from tree branches, blanketing sidewalks and lawns in brownish hollow cones that greet our footsteps with their patented crunch-crunch-crunch.

I also love to look at Halloween decorations. This holiday has definitely surpassed Christmas as the time of year when homeowners go all out to transform their patch of front lawn. They become cemeteries, or giant spider webs or yellow-taped crime scenes.

Some front yards seem to call out the Dollar Tree provenance of their witches and skeletons and jack-o-lanterns. Other scary objects seemed to have come from a fire sale of props at the Theatre of the Macabre. Some scenes seem to be composed of an odd assortment of objects excavated from basements.

The source and expense involved in fashioning a compelling Halloween scene matters less than the creativity and attentiveness of the decorator.

Walking along Sacramento, I came across two dolls standing on top of cement and brick balusters flanking stairs leading up to a front entrance. They had curly red hair, which was a little wild, and their eyes seemed to be rolled back in their heads, appearing as nearly all white spheres under heavily mascaraed lashes.

Their red, bow-shaped lips were a deeper shade of red than that of a vampire’s last drink. They wore Victorian vintage dresses, which were hard to guess the age range they were made for. Were these dolls meant to represent schoolgirls or not-quite maids, women past their expiration dates for marriage?

Ah…I was standing before the Creepy Queen of the Pumpkin Patch.

I wondered what she could see with her eyes, turned, as they were, inside her head. I wondered if she was guarding the house or trying to escape some evil that resided there.

She wasn’t exactly threatening. I saw no fangs, no sickle of destruction. But she was creepy.   She was perfect in effect.

I started thinking about evil in literature and movies. Of course, evil is not something we want to see flourish, but I have a strange sort of admiration for authors or actors that create super memorable villains.

Some of the most famous came to mind: Sherlock Holmes’ clever nemesis, Moriarty; Shakespeare’s scheme-meister Iago from Othello and bitter hunchback Richard III; cruel slave-owner Simon Legree from Uncle Tom’s Cabin; uncompromisingly in control, psych ward warden, Nurse Ratched from Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest; sadistic Nils from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Of course, Darth Vader’s story can be conjured up whenever we hear particularly heavy breathing; a life destined for good that got corrupted.

Some of these characters had fine intellects, but misused them. Others centered their lives around manipulating others, which most of our better instincts tell us is wrong, and some were especially cruel as a sort of personal power metric, taking special advantage over the most vulnerable.

Some thrived on being in control (as many of us do), but took control to an extreme. Others showed no remorse or empathy for actions that harmed others.

All great villains are unique, but all teach us a little about our own humanity. Certainly, just the thought of EVIL makes me uncomfortable, but I have a great admiration for artists who make the qualities of evil real to me and remind me of my choices.

Doing wrong RIGHT is no small thing.