Just when you thought there were already more than enough real-life monsters on your TV screen, Ryan Murphy has served up another one.

Fortunately, unlike most of the others, this one is no longer a threat – but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped terrifying us. For the third installment of his “Monster” anthology series, Murphy profiles notorious murderer and bodysnatcher Ed Gein, whose crimes in a rural Wisconsin town during 1940s and ‘50s became legendary in the annals of serial killer lore – though, with only two confirmed murder victims, his body count barely qualifies him as one. Nevertheless, his notoriety has spread into popular culture through the inspiration they provided for some of the most iconic fictional serial killers in our popular imagination.

In fact, it’s the reach his heinous acts has extended through the many screen and literary villains that have been based upon him – first and most famously Norman Bates, the deranged cross-dressing killer at the center of both Robert Bloch’s novel and Alfred Hitchcock movie version of “Psycho” – which seems to be most of interest in “Monster: The Ed Gein Story,” which uses the fictionalized narrative of its titular anti-hero’s life as a springboard to explore the reflection of his crimes through the stories and the characters that would come to be based on him, as well as their impact on some of the people who created them. That’s a perfect angle for a Murphy series – in this case written by Ian Brennan and (mostly) directed by Max Winkler – because it allows plentiful opportunities to indulge the queer entertainment mogul’s penchant for campy re-enactments of true (and not-so-true) Hollywood.

In the first of its eight episodes, we meet Gein (Charlie Hunnam) in the early 1940s, living on the family farm he shares with his mother (Laurie Metcalf) and brother (Hudson Oz). As it plays out its version of the events that would shape his future madness – particularly the tyrannical ravings of his puritanically religious mother, and her efforts to instill her vitriolic hatred of sinful impulses (especially involving sex) into her sons – it also offers “fast-forward” glimpses of what’s to come for Ed, whose quiet and seemingly timid demeanor masks an inner life that includes a fascination with shrunken heads, cannibalism, and the gruesome atrocities of the Nazi Holocaust.

It’s a gripping introduction, invoking the elements of Gein’s story that would become serial killer “tropes” – the abusive upbringing, the dissociation, the gruesome “souvenirs” and skin suits intended to feed a fantasy of transformation – and lays the land ahead with the stylistic choice to blur the lines between reality, delusion, and mythology. At the same time, it quickly establishes a precedent of veering into speculation, depicting certain events – killings to which he never admitted and were never proven, a fabricated romance with a young neighbor (Suzanna Son), and other departures from the territory of “docudrama” into that of “sensationalized fantasy” – in a manner that makes it hard to separate truth from fiction.

That, of course, is the point. Most of Murphy’s crime and horror shows, in some way or another, explore that same nebulous line, whether “based on a true story” or not. The “Monster” series is an ideal vehicle for exploring the boundaries between perception and reality, offering characters and situations so distorted beyond everyday experience that even documented truths feel like part of an absurdist play. In the season’s second episode, the scope expands with the inclusion of another plotline, a few years beyond Gein’s eventual capture and imprisonment, which takes place during the filming of “Psycho,” which frames both director Alfred Hitchcock (Tom Hollander) and star Anthony Perkins (Joey Pollari) into an equally speculative exploration of the way these famous collaborators may have been affected by the artistic process of delving into Gein’s monstrous head.

We won’t go further into the events that follow during the rest of the series, except to say that it goes on to follow Gein’s presence in pop culture through his cinematic reincarnations in “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” and “Silence of the Lambs,” and that, as with most Murphy shows, there’s a kind of lurid gloss which envelops the entire thing, a self-consciously elevated style that magnifies half-truths and popular mythology alongside the tragedies that sparked them.

That, historically speaking, has always been the controversy around Murphy’s “Monster” shows, sparking debate about exploiting the memory of victims for the glamorization of their killers. It’s also the same controversy that has surrounded all such stories in popular entertainment culture, whether partially true or entirely fabricated. Indeed, Hitchcock faced similar criticism with “Psycho” all those years ago, yet he also made a fortune and cemented an already-impressive legacy with a movie that redefined not just the horror genre, but the boundaries of popular cinema itself; and though (as the series suggests) he may have come to regret opening a “Pandora’s Box” of previously unseen violence and depravity that would saturate the big screen forever after, he would, no doubt, have appreciated the irony of seeing himself portrayed here as a creature driven perhaps by some of the same twisted desires as Gein – simply because he understood, as a master manipulator of audiences, that the most effective use of filmed storytelling is achieved by showing us the darker corners of our own inner landscapes that we would otherwise prefer to ignore.

In terms of presentation and performance, “The Ed Gein Story” successfully inhabits a gritty noir-ish space that evokes both the pulpy true crime stories of Gein’s day and the “slasher movie” aesthetic of our own; the violence is no-holds-barred, and therefore difficult to watch, which in itself will likely be enough to ensure that it’s not a show for every taste. Though Hunnam is disappointing as Gein (his affected, one-note take on the character is a far cry from Perkins’ endearingly awkward boyishness as the real-life killer’s fictional stand-in in “Psycho”), but many of the other cast members deliver outstanding turns – most notably the gifted Metcalf, who makes Gein’s mother arguably more monstrous than her notorious offspring.

Ultimately, appreciation for Murphy’s newest foray into true crime myth-making will come down to, as with any of the others, a matter of taste. Those who approach it with an eye toward its canny examination of popular media’s obsession with crime, violence, and unspeakable horror might have a better time with it than those hoping for a more objective, centered, and fact-based document of Gein’s notorious history.

In any case, its entertainment appeal is – perhaps ironically – undeniable; after all, serial killers provide an almost ironclad guarantee of public interest, carrying the ever-mysterious key to what makes a person “evil” and the chance to examine our own relationship with the deadly impulses behind their crimes. Whether or not you appreciate the show’s deliberately exploitative tone, or the sometimes over-the-top camp of its lurid presentation, or even the seemingly gratuitous nudity and violence that serves to uncomfortably titillate us throughout, you’re bound to be drawn in.

In other words, you might not like it, but you won’t be able to look away.