ONE OF THE SCARIEST moments in the horror movie genre is when the baby-sitter gets the call telling her, "He's in the house with you!" The "he," of course, is the bad guy /murderer/monster. Today, we'll have lots of thrillers and spine chillers to entertain us, and foremost, perhaps, Mary Shelley's classic, "Frankenstein." A best- seller in 1816 and rarely out of print since, "Frankenstein" is probably the most beautifully written of all the scary books.

Shelley's messages are very much a part of our lives now. The questions that she raised: What is life? What does it mean to be human? Where will science lead us? are as perplexing now as they were at the dawn of the scientific era.

The issue of scientific intrusion into life is at the very heart of today's science news, and at the center of the proud claims of major medical and research organizations. We proclaim new ways to overcome disability, disease and death, but at what cost and to what limit?

When we hear the name Frankenstein, a common first response is the image of the lumbering, rivet-headed monster immortalized by Boris Karloff. We picture the creature assembled in the laboratory out of body parts, so ugly that humans fainted at the sight of him. This common misidentification of Frankenstein tells us how easily we tend to blame the victim and how often we overlook who the bad guy really is. In Shelley's story, the large, disfigured man is named simply "The Creature." Frankenstein is the scientist: Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

Shelley shows us that the very tragedy of Frankenstein and what led to tragic consequences was work done in isolated obsession. Her brilliant young scientist, Dr. "F," had no association with his peers, no life outside his laboratory, nothing to balance his work. Does this seem too much an accusation of our times? Frankenstein confesses his own dilemma: "In the year I created The Creature I had no intimacy, had not read a book, had a meal with friends, heard a concert or been to church."

Maybe that seems a little heavy-handed as an admonition against workaholism, but how much does market competition, confidentiality and speed drive this same isolation in science today?

The second lesson is that scientific experimentation of itself is not wrong; the trouble lies in its separation from social discourse. The issue is not to prevent creation but to take responsibility collectively and individually for the social and human cost of new technology. Shelley's point is subtle but important: Frankenstein is a tragic figure not for experimenting but for neglecting to take responsibility for his work. The development of new technology is accelerating. At MIT, there is a new graduate program in the work of creating "humachines." A University of Toronto laboratory is dedicated to Cyborg symbiosis. Should we be talking about what these scientists are up to? Should we be asking ourselves what we want of them?

We keep reading of life-saving breakthroughs in technology and medicine. In the past month, we've seen artificial limbs that are linked to the central nervous system, and people blinded by retinitis pigmentosa who are wearing artificial retinas. Is there a line we would even think about drawing? For society? For ourselves? Is a brain transplant going too far? Who will decide?

Frankenstein is the perfect myth for our time, raising the question of scientific inquiry outside a dialogue about consequences. It's so easy to point a finger at science, but we now find ourselves -- consumers, citizens -- demanding better health care and cures for disease. We don't want scientific progress to stop. But we have to ask: What is the value of human life? What's the cost and consequence of saving one? Of making one? And who's the monster now? Mary Shelley gives us a clue: He's in the house with us.