But Next Door was also forbidden territory. George's parents had very firmly said no to the idea of George using it as an extra playground. And it hadn't been their normal sort of no, which was a wishy-washy, kindly, we're-asking-you-not-to-for-your-own-sake sort of no. This had been a real no, the kind you didn't argue with. It was the same no that George had encountered when he tried suggesting that, as everyone else at school had a television set —some kids even had one in their bedroom! — maybe his parents could think about buying one. On the subject of television, George had had to listen to a long explanation from his father about how watching mindless trash would pollute his brain. But when it came to Next Door, he didn't even get a lecture from his dad. Just a flat, conversation-ending no.

George, however, always liked to know why. Guessing he wasn't going to get any more answers from his dad, he asked his mother instead.

"Oh, George," she had sighed as she chopped up Brussels sprouts and turnips and threw them into the cake mix. She tended to cook with whatever came to hand rather than with ingredients that would actually combine to make something tasty. "You ask too many questions."

"I just want to know why I can't go next door," George persisted. "And if you tell me, I won't ask any more questions for the rest of the day. I promise."

His mom wiped her hands on her flowery apron and took a sip of nettle tea. "All right, George," she said. "I'll tell you a story if you stir the muffins."

Passing over the big brown mixing bowl and the wooden spoon, she settled herself down as George started to beat the stiff yellow dough with the green and white vegetable speckles together.

"When we first moved here," his mom began, "when you were very small, an old man lived in that house. We hardly ever saw him, but I remember him well. He had the longest beard I've ever seen — it went right down to his knees. No one knew how old he really was, but the neighbors said he'd lived there forever."

"What happened to him?" asked George, who'd already forgotten that he'd promised not to ask any more questions.

"Nobody knows," said his mom mysteriously.

"What do you mean?" asked George, who had stopped stirring.

"Just that," said his mom. "One day he was there. The next day he wasn't."

"Maybe he went on vacation," said George.

"If he did, he never came back," said his mom. "Eventually they searched the house, but there was no sign of him. The house has been empty ever since and no one has ever seen him again."

"Gosh," said George.

"A little while back," his mom continued, blowing on her hot tea, "we heard noises next door — banging sounds in the middle of the night. There were flashing lights and voices as well. Some squatters had broken in and were living there. The police had to throw them out. Just last week we thought we heard the noises again. We don't know who might be in that house. That's why your dad doesn't want you going around there, Georgie.

As George looked at the big black hole in the fence, he remembered the conversation he'd had with his mom. The story she'd told him hadn't stopped him from wanting to go Next Door — it still looked mysterious and enticing. But wanting to go Next Door when he knew he couldn't was one thing; finding out he actually had to was quite another. Suddenly Next Door seemed dark, spooky, and very scary.

George felt torn. Part of him just wanted to go home to the flickery candlelight and funny familiar smells of his mother's cooking, to close the back door and be safe and snug inside his own house once more. But that would mean leaving Freddy alone and possibly in danger. He couldn't ask his parents for any help in case they decided that this was the final black mark against Freddy's name and packed him off to be made into bacon. Taking a deep breath, George decided he had to do it. He had to go Next Door.

Closing his eyes, he plunged through the hole in the fence.

When he came out on the other side and opened his eyes, he was right in the middle of the jungle garden. Above his head, the tree cover was so dense he could hardly see the sky. It was getting dark now, and the thick forest made it even darker. George could just see where a path had been trampled through the enormous weeds. He followed it, hoping it would lead him to Freddy.

He waded through great banks of brambles, which grabbed at his clothes and scratched his bare skin. They seemed to reach out in the semidarkness to scrape their prickly spines along his arms and legs. Muddy old leaves squished under his feet, and nettles attacked him with their sharp, stinging fingers. All the while the wind in the trees above him made a singing, sighing noise, as though the leaves were saying, Be careful, Georgie ... be careful, Georgie.

The trail brought George into a sort of clearing right behind the house itself. So far he had not seen or heard any sign of his wayward pig. But there, on the broken paving stones outside the back door, he saw only too clearly a set of muddy hoofprints. From the marks, George could tell exactly which way Freddy had gone. His pig had marched straight into the abandoned house through the back door, which had been pushed open just wide enough for a fat pig to squeeze through. Worse, from the house where no one had lived for years and years, a beam of light shone.

Somebody was home.

More from TODAY Did ‘Mad Money’ host panic investors? |    Gourd-zilla: Pumpkin weighs 1,900 lbs. |    Shock! Lightning hit him at gas pump |    How Maria Menounos dropped 10 sizes |    Fake babies ease women's anxiety, sadness A-plus! Makeover for math teacher   See haunted destinations (if you dare)   The week in celebrity sightings | More photos

Excerpted from “George's Secret Key to the Universe” by By Stephen Hawking, Lucy Hawking, Christophe Galfard. Illustrated by Garry Parsons. Copyright © 2007 by Stephen Hawking, Lucy Hawking, Christophe Galfard. Excerpted by permission in U. S. by Simon & Schuster's Children Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

MORE FROM AL'S BOOK CLUB

Al's Book Club Section Front

Books come alive in ‘Inkheart’ Have a question about 'Inkheart'? Club's pick: ‘Rapunzel’s Revenge’  ‘Artemis Fowl’ a thrilling fantasy Club’s pick: ‘Brendan Buckley’s Universe’ Club’s pick: ‘Seekers: The Quest Begins’ A kid's crime story: ‘Chasing Vermeer’ Q&A with ‘Vermeer’ author Blue Balliett Club’s pick: Molly Moon’s next adventure Excerpt: ‘The Sisters Grimm’ Al's Book Club Section Front   Add Al's Book Club headlines to your news reader: