The most terrifying part of The Handmaid's Taleisn't that it could someday happen -- it's that it's already happening.

The first three episodes of Hulu's incredible adaptation of Margaret Atwood's novel are now streaming, and while viewers have been quick to draw comparisons between the fictional dystopia of Gilead -- which treats women as objects and denies them agency over their own bodies (hmm!) -- and the current political climate in America, the painful truth is that many of the issues central to the series have plagued humanity from the get-go.

In fact, what made Atwood's novel so potent when it was published in 1985 -- and what makes it so relevant today -- is that the author didn't have to invent much of the narrative at all, as she wrote for The Guardianin 2012:

I made a rule for myself: I would not include anything that human beings had not already done in some other place or time, or for which the technology did not already exist. I did not wish to be accused of dark, twisted inventions, or of misrepresenting the human potential for deplorable behaviour. The group-activated hangings, the tearing apart of human beings, the clothing specific to castes and classes, the forced childbearing and the appropriation of the results, the children stolen by regimes and placed for upbringing with high-ranking officials, the forbidding of literacy, the denial of property rights: all had precedents, and many were to be found not in other cultures and religions, but within western society."

So if you're struck with a sense of familiar horror while watching the series, it's not surprising -- but it's also not limited to the current administration.

Here are the eight most horrifying moments from the first three episodes of The Handmaid's Tale, titled "Offred," "Birth," and "Late," which will be giving us nightmares for months. Spoilers ahead!

Episode 1: "Offred"

The Red Center

Okay, pretty much the entirety of episode 1 is a disorienting tumble down the rabbit hole into the new world order of Gilead -- one that is just as traumatic for poor Offred (formerly known as June) as it is for the viewer.

But shit gets real when we flashback to June's time in the reindoctrination facility that bullies, brainwashes and breaks the poor unfortunate souls who have been designated "Handmaids" -- the few women who are still fertile.

There, we get a little backstory on how this all came about.

"They filled the air with chemicals and radiation and poison, so God whipped up a special plague: the plague of infertility," says Aunt Lydia, one of the older women responsible for training the new recruits. "As birthrates fell, they made things worse — birth control pills, morning after pills, murdering babies. Just so they could have their orgies, their Tinder... They were dirty women. They were sluts."

Yep, that science checks out.

"Girls, I know this must feel very strange," Aunt Lydia says, in perhaps the most chilling line of the episode. "But 'ordinary' is just what you're used to. This may not seem ordinary to you right now, but after a time, it will. This will become ordinary."

Know what else is ordinary? Victim-blaming. When one of the Handmaids recounts the traumatic memory of being gang-raped as a child, Aunt Lydia asks, "Who led them on? Whose fault was it?" When the Handmaid doesn't answer, refusing to blame herself, Lydia encourages the girls to answer for her in an unrelenting chant: "Herfault."

Why did God allow it to happen? To "teach her a lesson," the Handmaids shout.

Ugh.

The Rape

There's no other word for it. The upper crust might call it "The Ceremony" to make it more palatable, but there's nothing more soul-destroying than seeing the empty look in Offred's eyes as Commander Waterford thrusts dispassionately into her, or the carefully blank expression on his wife's face.

It's a deeply humiliating ritual for both women, and both of them are equally powerless in it, even if Serena Joy tries to salvage some shreds of dignity by ordering Offred out of the room before she can see Serena cry when it's over.

The Salvaging

The climax of the episode comes when the girls are tasked with punishing a rapist who assaulted a pregnant Handmaid -- a "salvaging," as Atwood's book calls it. On the one hand, I guess it's an improvement that rapists are actually getting convicted in this dystopia, but you can tell that Gilead doesn't care that a man forced himself on a woman -- that's what the Commanders do every month in what amounts to state-sanctioned rape -- they only care that someone stole a Commander's property and destroyed a potentially healthy baby in the process.

By giving the women something to channel their rage and frustration into -- a common enemy -- they become tools of the system rather than fighting against it. They behave like feral animals, acting on their base instincts, and the loss of their humanity makes it easier for them to be treated like the livestock that the regime sees them as. It's chilling, especially when Offred realizes what she's done.

Episode 2: "Birth"

While it's equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking to see the Wives simulating the act of childbirth -- complete with soothing harp music, macarons and coffee -- as the Handmaids do all the hard work upstairs, the most terrifying parts of the second episode are also treated as the most banal.

A baby being torn away from her mother mere moments after birth; the Wives infantilizing the Handmaids by debating the merits of giving them cookies ("You shouldn't spoil them -- sugar is bad for them"); the moment of uncertainty before Offred enters the Commander's office, unsure if she's about to be beaten or assaulted or who knows what else (invited for a game of Scrabble, apparently); a thousand micro-aggressions that add up to a climate of fear and helplessness.

"Oh fuck"

But Offred sums it up best with her simple, two-word utterance when she realizes that her only ally, Ofglen, has been replaced with a new Handmaid, with no warning or explanation. The tension has been steadily building all episode, starting with the Eyes (a secret police force that spies on citizens) grabbing a random man on the street and forcing him into an ominous black van.

Ofglen is a member of the resistance, which means her life is constantly in danger, but the abruptness of her disappearance is truly unnerving. It could happen to anyone, and Offred knows she might be next, even if she hasn't done anything but talk.

Episode 3: "Late"

Are there any scenes that aren'thorrifying in episode 3? A lot of the hour takes place in the days before America became Gilead, when June and her best friend Moira were just living their lives, slowly witnessing their rights being stripped away.

Wake Up

Perhaps the most timely aspect of Offred's journey so far comes from her internal monologue at the beginning of this episode: "Now I'm awake to the world. I was asleep before -- that's how we let it happen. When they slaughtered Congress, we didn't wake up. When they blamed terrorists and suspended the Constitution, we didn't wake up then either. They said it would be temporary. Nothing changes instantaneously. In a gradually heating bathtub, you'd be boiled to death before you knew it."

We're all guilty of complacency, and "Late" illustrates all the ways we can become complicit in our own destruction, like how we can't be bothered to intervene when we see a stranger in trouble, or our refusal to stand up for ourselves to avoid rocking the boat or being labeled "difficult" or "bitchy."

When a misogynistic barista calls them "fucking sluts" and denies them service after June's card is inexplicably declined, June and Moira laugh in disbelief, but it quickly becomes clear it's no laughing matter.

"I don't have a choice"

The severity of the situation is obvious when June's boss calls a meeting in which he tells all the women they can't work there anymore. They're not being "fired," he insists, "we're letting you go," but there's no real distinction as the stunned women gather their belongings and are escorted from the building by men in nondescript black uniforms with military-grade guns.

None of the male employees argue with the boss or question why only the women are being targeted, and none of the women refuse to leave -- seemingly no one wants to make a scene or draw attention to themselves. It's a deeply relatable reaction, and that's what makes it so frightening. Would any of us behave differently if there were men with guns lurking behind us?

Friendly Fire

In another flashback, June and Moira are at a protest to advocate for women's rights -- and at first it seems like any of the recent women's marches we've seen taking place across the country (all that's missing is a pussy hat or two). But things quickly escalate when the soldiers (or whatever they are) start moving towards the protesters, not with tear gas or water cannons, but with machine guns.

With no hesitation, they start shooting at the crowd, even as the protesters start to run, no longer trying to resist -- as if the soldiers are just eager to get rid of anyone who disagrees with them, whether they have a reason to harm them or not. It seems unfathomable, but as with so much of the series, there's a precedent for this in reality, when governmental forces have used lethal force against protesters.

Emily

Alexis Bledel shines in episode 3, which is particularly impressive considering she doesn't have a single line of dialogue in any of her scenes, and spends the majority of the episode with a Hannibal Lecter-esque gag over her mouth, allowing her to express herself only through her eyes and body language. Her voice has literally been taken away by the oppressive system she lives in, a reality experienced by many women.

We travel with her from a detention facility to a kangaroo court in which Ofglen and her secret sexual partner -- one of the housemaids classified as a Martha -- are found guilty of "gender treachery" (meaning a lesbian relationship) purely because a man says it's true.

The women aren't given a chance to defend themselves or even say a word, and Ofglen is forced to watch as her lover is hanged, still cuffed and gagged and only able to helplessly scream her distress. It's the most harrowing scene of the show yet, especially considering that homosexuality is still illegal in more than 70 countries, and punishable by death in at least 10.

But Ofglen (who is back to being addressed by her real name, Emily, now that she's no longer working for her Commander) is punished with another kind of cruelty -- female genital mutilation, another practice that is still widespread as a way of controlling women. It's not what happened to Ofglen in Atwood's novel, but it fits the story all too well.

The words are never spoken -- and so much of the show's power comes from what's implied -- but there's no mistaking the bandage over Emily's crotch, or Aunt Lydia's smug words: "You can still have children, of course, but things will be so much easier for you now. You won’t want what you cannot have."

The government may have taken away Emily's autonomy, but since they never discovered that she's a member of the resistance, they've just handed her another weapon to empower her rebellion. Now she really has nothing to lose.