Witches had been bad enough but "at least with them," as my grandmother said, "you always know where you stand": Death to children in horrible creative ways was the beginning, the middle, and the end of their agenda.
In contrast, we've learned that there's just no way to predict what the undead will get up to: it might be anything from dressing up in a dramatic black cape and attending high school whilst nibbling on impressionable teenagers' necks (and really, the capes I can understand because they do look cool, but the rest of it? Just ew!), to forming smelly, groany, shambly zombie hordes and shuffling around in search of brains, to those skeletons who climb out of their graves and dance jigs, jives and waltzes on el Cinco de Mayo.
But my grandmother and I, we aren't outmatched - we know that Formula 86 transforms the wicked undead into undead mice, and my grandmother can step on those, no problem.