Sorting through the seasonal bounty of horror and supernatural television series timed to Halloween, I have focused on shows that approach the grim task with a sense of humor. Here, in alphabetical order, are five series released this month that put more emphasis on wit than on sheer terror.

‘30 Coins’

The Spanish filmmaker Álex de la Iglesia careens through the conventions of the religious conspiracy thriller in this preposterous and highly enjoyable series that combines a “Da Vinci Code”-style premise with extremes of gore and a circling, tenuously comprehensible plot.

In the first season, a Spanish village became the site of a battle among Roman Catholic cabals and emissaries of Satan over Judas’s 30 pieces of silver, which if collected would give their owner unimagined power. Or something like that. Fighting back against these forces of evil was a motley crew that included a renegade priest, the village’s unhappily married mayor and a plucky veterinarian.

In Season 2, which premiered this week on HBO and Max, the apocalypse has been averted but its likelihood is still palpable, and the number of creepy beasts in the manner of Bosch and Guillermo del Toro has exponentially increased. Also joining the show is Paul Giamatti as a science-fiction-writing cult leader who is human in form but as frightening as any beast.

‘Creepshow’

Now in its fourth season on the horror-centric streaming service Shudder (as well as AMC+), this anthology series wears its comic-book sensibility and B-movie aesthetic proudly. And the best of its 22-minute stories (two per episode) also exhibit the cleverness and industriousness that contribute to real pop-culture satisfaction. You’ll see the first twist coming, but the second and the third may take you by surprise.

“Creepshow” doesn’t reach too far for its inspirations — Season 4’s familiar scenarios include a persecuted vampire family, a werewolf in a “Little Red Riding Hood” situation, a haunted video game and a cursed pair of 3-D glasses.

But along with its unpretentious nature comes a willingness to be self-referential and provide fan service, and some of its most entertaining segments are unabashed in-jokes. The Season 4 opener, “The Hat,” suggests that the novels of a writer strongly resembling Stephen King were actually composed by a snappy homburg that refuses to stop writing. In “George Romero in 3-D,” Romero comes back to life in animated form to battle ghouls of his own creation. King and Romero were, of course, the writer and director of the 1982 film “Creepshow” from which the series was spun off.

‘The Fall of the House of Usher’

Mike Flanagan’s fifth horror mini-series for Netflix (a collection that began with “The Haunting of Hill House”) is, if you care about consistency with the source, a serious mismatch. The genuinely morbid intensity of Edgar Allan Poe’s writing, on prominent display in “The Fall of the House of Usher,” is out of tune with Flanagan’s well-upholstered, tongue-in-cheek, slightly synthetic approach to horror, where everything is right there on the surface.

But that surface is often diverting, if not particularly frightening or memorable, and Flanagan can be counted on for large, capable casts. The eight-episode “Usher” offers Bruce Greenwood and Zach Gilford as current and past versions of Roderick Usher, reimagined as a Sackler-like big-pharma executive; Carl Lumbly as a prosecutor named Auguste Dupin; a raspy Mark Hamill as a corporate fixer named Arthur Gordon Pym; and T’Nia Miller as an Usher offspring named Victorine Lafourcade. The Flanagan regular Carla Gugino cycles through costumes and makeup, “Kind Hearts and Coronets”-style, as a seductive angel of death.

Dupin, Pym, Lafourcade and many others are named after Poe characters who had nothing to do with “Usher,” an indication of how Flanagan’s series is less an adaptation of the original — it isn’t really that at all — than a Frankenstein’s-monster collage of references to numerous Poe stories and poems. Episode titles — “Murder in the Rue Morgue,” “The Pit and the Pendulum” — clue you in to the style of gruesome death that’s about to take place. Passages of Poe’s prose and poetry are frequently incorporated into the dialogue, making for very flowery conversations. Gugino’s character is named Verna, an anagrammatic nod to Poe’s favorite bird.

Flanagan’s biggest change is to expand and update the story into a carnivalesque critique of capitalist greed and inhumanity. Roderick Usher, childless in the original story, now has six heirs whose lives are a catalog of wealth-and-entitlement motifs: nightclub bacchanals, sex with subordinates, wellness profiteering, antiquities looting, crisis management, A.I. infatuation, baking silly trompe l’oeil cakes. Poe’s Ushers were doomed by malaise and sheer malevolent ambience; Flanagan’s have to die because they’re a virus on the earth. As apocalyptic metaphors go, his “Usher” is reasonably entertaining.

‘Shining Vale’

Jeff Astrof and Sharon Horgan’s series cunningly blends horror, satire and situation comedy in its picture of a modern American woman’s dilemma: Has Pat Phelps, the struggling writer played by Courteney Cox, been driven crazy by the stresses of marriage, motherhood and career? Or does she act like a crazy person because her house is haunted and she’s fighting off demonic possession?

The first season of “Shining Vale” on Starz was a riff on “The Shining,” with Pat eventually taking an ax to her suburban Connecticut manse and to her feckless husband, played with simpering perfection by Greg Kinnear. Season 2, whose third episode premieres Friday, tackles another celebrated film, “Rosemary’s Baby”; the herbal tea a neighbor provides to calm Pat’s nerves after her release from a psychiatric ward has the unexpected side effect of reversing her menopause.

The avenging (but often friendly) spirit played by Mira Sorvino in Season 1 has supposedly been electro-convulsed out of Pat’s head, but luckily Sorvino returns, now playing the concerned neighbor. She and Kinnear, along with a stellar supporting cast that includes Judith Light, Merrin Dungey, Parvesh Cheena, Allison Tolman and the great Harriet Sansom Harris (Bebe in the original “Frasier”), bring a comic harmony to the show’s indelicate balance of tones.

‘Wolf Like Me’

A melancholy Australian romantic dramedy with werewolves, Peacock’s “Wolf Like Me” mixes tones and tropes in the manner of “Shining Vale” but with a quieter, less satirical effect. When “Shining Vale” sags, it goes flatly jokey; when “Wolf Like Me” runs out of energy, it gets blandly sentimental.

But when the creator, writer and director of “Wolf Like Me,” Abe Forsythe, is on his game, it’s a funny, lovely and moving show that can tap straight into your emotions. Also crucial are the performances of Isla Fisher as Mary, an American werewolf hiding from the world in Adelaide, Australia, and the young actress Ariel Donoghue as Emma, a girl devastated by the loss of her mother who becomes Mary’s de facto stepdaughter and develops a fierce loyalty to her. Josh Gad plays Gary, Emma’s father and Mary’s unlikely new boyfriend, and does a nice job of staying out of Fisher and Donoghue’s way.

Season 1 brought this accidental trio together, introduced a teasing note of magical realism (along with the outright full-moon supernaturalism) and established the theme of love’s triumph over grief and alienation. In Season 2, the focus shifts to Mary’s pregnancy, which is both a blessed event and a five-alarm crisis. Forsythe’s inventiveness occasionally runs low, and the characters can get strident and unengaging, but he builds to an exciting and wrenching finale that’s also a dire cliffhanger.