Zombies in Ray Beethoven's Setting

Just for the record, the hordes of electrically-reanimated zombies in the Grey Wool Science Guys setting were traditionally slow-moving and unintelligent, kinda like a cross between steampunk Borg, the mummy, and Boris Karloff as Frankenstein's monster. Werecreatures were as rare as hen's teeth, and vampires didn't exist except in the case of mad scientists who found ways to extend their own parasitic lives through unscrupulous chemical methods.

Ghosts definitely exist and are the source of much investigation and speculation. The Loch Ness monster, yetis, and Bigfoot might exist; but there's a growing certainty that if nobody's spotted anything cool by now then it's just a bunch of local legends built to draw in tourists. Con artists, phony mediums, and snake-oil salesmen are a common nuisance (and occasionally dangerous) to both townsfolk and scholars. Meanwhile, paid bebunkers (think of Houdini or the Amazing Randi) enjoy a respectable occupation for both amateurs and experts to engage in. Curses might exist, and are eagerly set upon by statisticians, newspaper reporters, and punch-card engine inventors. Ghouls, ghasts, etc. are similar to zombies. Specters, poltergeists, phantoms, etc. are synonyms for ghosts, except nearly all investigators attempt to classify different types of "undead" along taxonomic charts in an attempt to get famous.

Zombies, on the other hand, are fairly easy to build in the GWSG  setting, and are sometimes considered an acceptable end-of-the-semester project in anatomy and medical courses. During wartime, such reanimated conscripts serve as easy labor and cannon fodder in climates where snow is common, supply lines are cut off, and where the humidity is dry. Granted, the use of an undead army doesn't bring the prestige that conventional trench warfare brings.

In villages and towns, monsters are monsters, period. Showing off the reanimated corpse you built will probably backfire on you. Here, there's a thin line between an eccentric physician and a mad scientist. Selling a new threshing robot, serving on the volunteer fire brigade, or concocting a medicine that reliably cures Mumps will fortunately go a long way.  

In the cities or in the many small castle towers of the Old Line, the concept of right and wrong tends to be whatever the current occupant believes. The tradition of politely visiting one's neighbors (and in politely hosting one's neighbors) is also a way to make sure nobody is getting too irresponsible or too dangerous. You're allowed to blow yourself up, but Heaven help you if you're kidnapping local villagers for test subjects of a new incurable plague. Likewise, only the most paranoid of inventors shoo away guests, since every guest is a wonderful opportunity to show off what you've accomplished in recent weeks! Since mostly every visitor is well-educated, both the visitor and the host tend to eagerly appreciate guests. Fortunately, this culture works well because the villagers and townsfolk tend to only knock upon the doors of hermits, inventors, and reclusive scholars if a calamity has struck, such as a sick little girl, a winter avalanche, or a mine cave-in. Generally, if you see more than two torches coming up your road together, it means you need to bar the door and take up arms. The wiser recluses figured out that tales of ghosts and man-made monsters are more effective at keeping away the torch-and-pitchfork crowd than building traps, building thicker walls, or paying for guards. However, this is a tricky balance to achieve, since anyone whose habits become too eccentric could fuel the violent suspicions of the lesser-educated.

Magic may indeed have existed in previous times, but the scientific method and exploration are the real power in the GWSG setting.