All language subtitles for Beyond.Belief.Fact.or.Fiction.S03E03.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

"Beyond
Belief, Fact or Fiction,"

hosted by Jonathan Frakes.

Tonight, your challenge
is to separate what

is true from what is false.

Five stories, some
real, some fake,

can you judge which are
fact and which are fiction?

To find out, you
must enter a room

of both truth and deception, a
world that is "Beyond Belief."

Can we really
trust our own eyes?

Observe these two
painted figures.

The one on the right,
obviously, looks bigger

than the one on the left.

But let's switch positions.

Now which one seems bigger?

The truth is they're
exactly the same size.

And so it is with
our stories tonight.

What seems to be true
may turn out to be

completely false or vise versa.

So be careful how you
judge them or should I say,

how you size them up.

Have you ever noticed
the curious things one

sees discarded by the roadside?

One shoe, very common.

In fact, maybe that's where
they get the expression,

"tossed off like an old shoe."

You also see lots of
hubcaps on the road.

Of course, spare tires, and even
furniture shows up on the side

of the highway now and then.

But none of these
items have prepared

the Bradleys for what
they're about to encounter

along the roadside.

Jerry can't resist taking
advantage of it, and Mary?

Well, she's waiting for
the other shoe to drop.

My new
husband, Jerry, and I

considered ourselves the
luckiest people in the world.

We were married in our
hometown of Gary, Indiana,

and decided to drive
cross country to Los

Angeles for our honeymoon.

Yeah!

Whoo-hoo!

We are here, my friend.

Oooh, yeah.

Exactly, exactly.

Oh, what a beautiful spot.

Where are we?

Near as I can figure, we
are just outside of Flagstaff

on an old stretch of Route 66.

I think.

So we're lost.

Well, no, not lost.

I mean, all roads
lead somewhere.

Come on, let's go eat.

I'm starving.

Nothing ever
bothered Jerry.

He just took things
as they came.

But I believe in fate.

Everything happens for a reason.

Like most newlyweds, we
didn't have much money.

But it didn't really matter.

All we needed was each other.

Call room service, order
us up some lunch, OK?

Or how about if I
make you another peanut

butter and jelly sandwich?

That's perfect, yeah.

You read my mind.

And what about my tip, eh?

What's wrong?

There's something over
there, right in the grass,

right there.

Jerry, where are you going?

You know what this is?

This is a 1944 Barton.

They don't make them any more.

It's a classic, and
it's in perfect shape.

Well, it must
belong to someone.

Yeah, but why would
anyone leave it here?

I don't know, but
if it's that valuable,

I'm sure they're going
to come back for it.

And that just
doesn't make any sense.

I mean, it must have fallen
off a truck somewhere.

It's not our business, Jerry.

I wonder if it still runs?

Who cares?

Would you just leave it alone.

Now, come on, let's go.

Wait a second.

What are you doing?

Come on, stop that.

Put it back down, Jerry.

Oh, wait, this
is kind of weird.

The date on this license
plate is from 1944.

It's never been renewed.

I'm getting a really
bad feeling from this.

I just want to go, OK?

Oh, get off of it, Jerry.

Whoo!

There's still gas in it.

All right.

Jerry, there's blood
on the front fender.

Aah, probably just hit a deer.

I can't believe you did that!

I'm going to take
it for a little spin.

I'll be right back.

I'll never forget
the terrible feeling

I had in the pit of my stomach
as I watched Jerry pull away.

Whoo, whee.

All right.

Oh.

Jerry!

Aaaah!

Jerry.

Owe, oh.

Are you all right?

I think I broke my leg.

Oh, oh-- the girl.

I couldn't stop.

Where is she?

She's gone.

Where's the motorcycle?

And the, uh, the girl and the
motorcycle just disappeared.

I know I hit her.

Look, it happened.

I mean, look at me.

Take it easy.

I know this all
sounds like we're

completely out of our minds,
but I saw the whole thing.

And it happened exactly the
way he told it, I swear to you.

You don't believe us.

No, I believe you.

54 years ago there was
a terrible accident

in this very spot.

A young soldier,
home from the war,

borrowed his friend's
Barton motorcycle

He sped down this road
to see his girlfriend.

They we're going to meet right
here underneath that tree.

It was late, getting
dark, and you

didn't see her
standing by the side

of the road waiting for him.

He hit her, lost
control of the bike.

Two young people
very much in love

died right here 54
years ago to the day.

What are you saying?

Every year on
this day, somebody

sees that old motorcycle.

But it always disappears
before they get to it.

You're the only one
that ever got to ride

it and see the young girl.

But why did this
happen now to us?

Who knows?

Joe, let's get him
ready for transport.

Looking back
now, Jerry and I

believe we were chosen
to release the spirits

of these two young lovers.

Maybe now they can
both rest in peace.

What caused Jerry Bradley
to fall off the motorcycle

and break his leg?

Was it all an illusion?

Why have others reported
seeing the same cycle

on that same day every year,
and where did the bike go?

Could both Jerry
and Mary have been

hallucinating at the same time?

Are we telling the
truth in this story

or will it turn out that
we're just recycling a lie?

We'll tell
you whether this story

is true or false at
the end of our show.

Next, a mysterious
stranger and a high stakes

pool game on "Beyond
Belief, Fact or Fiction."

A pool table
can be the setting

for a gentlemanly contest
of skill and strategy

or a set piece in a seamy
world of sharks and hustlers.

Our story takes place
in the Southside

Pool Hall, a world
where dishonesty

often triumphs over decency.

And where the clock
of ivory spheres

can sound the sinking
of a man's life

as casually as the
sinking of a three ball

in the corner pocket.

Maybe I love the
game of pool too much.

I bought the Southside
Pool Hall 35 years ago.

I never made a lot
of dough out of it,

but at least I was around
the game every day.

A year ago, I got a bad break.

My wife needed
surgery, and I took out

a loan against the business.

But things went
from bad to worse,

and I ended up having to
sell the place for nothing

to a cocky, young
hustler, Nicky Russ.

All right, who's next?

I gotta lose sometime.

I'll play one arm
behind my back.

Come on, anybody.

Leon, get us a couple
of beers, will ya?

Come on, hop to it, Pops.

I'm thirsty here.

Coming right up.

I needed money, so
I stayed on and did

odd jobs around the place.

Funny how things work out.

I never thought I'd be
making less than minimum

wage at a place I used to own.

Can't you see
I'm shooting here?

Put it over there.

Why don't you use your
head once in a while, Leon.

I've been meaning to ask you,
what's up with this gold cue?

The stick?

That stick belonged to the
great Jack Lesko, five times

World Champion
from 1970 to 1975.

He started off hustling right
here when he was 15 years old.

He was the greatest natural
pool player I ever saw.

Leon, what are you doing?

Come on,
get back to work.

What am I paying you for?

It was tough having
Nicky Russ as a boss.

But I was 65 years old,
where else could I go?

At least I was still
around the game.

Not a bad night, especially
when you add in what I won.

Hey, no dogs allowed in here.

He'll be waiting outside.

The stranger looked
kind of familiar to me,

but I knew he wasn't a regular.

It smells just
like it used to.

Still has plenty of play.

Did you ever
shoot here before?

Yeah, a long time ago.

I knew this man but I
just couldn't place him.

It was driving me crazy.

You looking for some action?

Let's shoot some pool.

The stranger got
nothing off the break.

So now it was Nicky's turn.

Nicky was really hot tonight.

It seemed no matter
what he did, the balls

would fall just right.

Of course, the stranger
asked for a rematch.

The second game went
quicker than the first.

I'd seen Nicky like this before.

He just couldn't lose.

When a guy's is this hot,
you don't bet against him.

The stranger insisted
on doubling the stakes.

Nicky never took a breath,
just kept on sinking.

I just scored ten
grand in two hours, baby.

You're the best, Nicky.

Hey, look, it's late, and
you're probably out of cash, so.

How about one last
game for $50,000.

Hey, I don't have
$50 grand on me.

You've got a pool hall.

Are you hustling me?

What do you care?

Can you beat me?

Play him, Nicky.

You can't lose.

It's $50 grand.

All right.

I'm on, hot shot.

There's just one condition.

I want to change cues.

Sure, go head.

That's when I figured
out who the stranger was.

It had been a long time
since I'd seen him.

But it was the great Jack Lesko.

Do you think there's any
magic left in the old stick?

Maybe.

They'd been playing
9-ball all night,

and the stranger had yet to
sink in a ball on the break.

9-ball on the break.
The man wins.

I don't believe this.

And give the bill
of sale to Leon.

It's his place again.

What?

I don't have to do that.

Yes, you do.

You lost.

Take care, Leon.

Thanks, Jack.

I don't know how you did that.

It didn't make any sense.

I couldn't figure it out.

Who was that guy?

You two scam me?

No, you got beat fair and
square by the great Jack Lesko.

Jack Lesko?

That's impossible.

Why?

Because Jack Lesko stop
playing pool about 15 years ago

when he went blind.

Nicky Russ and Donna left
town the following morning.

And they never set foot
inside Leon's pool hall again.

What really happened at the
Southside pool hall that night?

Was it really Jack Lesko
who came back to shoot pool?

If so, how could
a blind man shoot

with such skill and accuracy.

There have been cases of blind
people regaining their sight

for brief periods of time.

Is that what happened?

Or is there some paranormal
power in the golden cue itself?

Are we presenting a story based
on an actual event or are we

just playing another
game of dirty pool?

We'll tell
you whether this story

is true or false at
the end of our show.

Next, a small southern
town hides a deadly secret

on "Beyond Belief,
Fact or Fiction."

What do you want to
be when you grow up?

Some of us keep asking
ourselves that question well

into middle age.

For a young person just
out of high school,

the world is an exciting place.

So many choices, which
is the right one?

Yet some young
people seem to know

exactly what they want to do.

Tommy Stewart was
just such a young man.

Ever since anyone could
remember he wanted a career

in law enforcement, and
everyone in his small town

was rooting for him to make it.

But somehow, things took
a wrong turn for Tommy.

And to figure out
exactly what happened

may take the local
Sheriff's entire career.

There wasn't much
crime in our little town

of Beauford, Alabama.

Oh, there was the
occasional drunk

we had to put up at the county's
expense from time to time,

but nothing really
big ever happened.

We liked it that way.

Folks around here didn't
have to lock their doors.

But then it all changed.

That was Tommy Stewart.

Young, eager beaver
if ever there was one.

Sheriff Driscoll, I picked
up those Wanted posters.

Oh, good, good.

Thanks, Tommy.

Uh, Tommy, which Wanted
posters were those again?

It's the FBI's 10 Most Wanted.

Oh, yeah.

Well, you might as well
go ahead and put them up.

Yes, sir.

Tommy grew up dirt
poor on the outskirts of town.

And he had the same dream
for as long as I knew him.

All he ever wanted out of life
was to become an FBI agent.

You know, one of these
fugitives is from a county

only 30 miles away.

Is that a fact?

If he ever passed
through Beauford,

his running days are
going to be over.

Tommy worked his way
through a small local college

with odd jobs around town.

And every day he'd put in
two or three hours here

at the station, just to learn as
much as he could about the law.

I've got to go deliver some
groceries to Mrs. Hopkins.

I'll be back later.

Bye, Sheriff.

You couldn't
help liking Tommy.

He was just that kind of a kid.

It's purely coincidental,
Pat, and it's also

jurisdiction by checking
your

before you put your foot in it.

Oh, I understand.

I made it.

I'm getting in.

I'll call you later, Pat.

I was accepted in
the Academy, Sheriff.

I'm going to be an FBI agent.

I'm real proud of you, Tommy.

You deserve it.

I couldn't have
done it without you.

I'm going to go tell the others.

All Tommy
needed was enough money

for travel and living expenses.

I got him a job at the
cotton mill as a courier.

They entrusted him with making
the monthly bank deposit, which

was usually around $10,000.

What happened next just
never made any sense to me.

One day, Tommy just disappeared
along with the mill's $10,000.

He never showed up
at the FBI Academy

and no one ever saw or
heard from him again.

We did a thorough
investigation, but never

found one thing
that explained what

happened to Thomas Stewart.

Not too many days went by
over the next five years

that I didn't think about Tommy.

I hated that the case had
gone unsolved for so long.

And I never believed
that he took that money.

Sheriff Driscoll here?

I'm Sheriff Driscoll.

Agent Joseph Delaney, FBI.

We're investigating a ring
of counterfeiters we believe

is operating in the area.

Counterfeiting, huh?

That's news to me.

Yeah, well
hopefully, I'll

be able to wrap this
thing up quickly

and get out of your hair.

Something wrong?

No.

No, no, why don't you grab
that desk right over there.

Thanks.

I couldn't
help noticing

that Agent Delaney was about the
same age Tommy would be by now.

There was something
familiar about him.

Thanks, Arlene.

Yes, sir, we've got--

Of course.

I'll call you the
same time tomorrow.

Yes, sir.

You know, I
can't help but think

that you and I met before.

It's possible.

I lived here in
Beauford about five

years ago for a short time.

It was right before I
entered the Academy.

You remember a local
boy named Tommy Stewart?

Yeah, I remember him.

We talked a few times
about our mutual ambition

to join the Bureau.

That right?

Yeah, it was terrible
how he disappeared

with all that money.

Thomas Stewart was no thief.

For the next week, I
noticed that Agent Delaney

didn't do much investigating.

One of my deputies
overheard him talking

to the Bureau trying
to get himself

transferred out of Beauford.

There was something
wrong about Delaney,

but I just couldn't
put my finger on it.

Sheriff Driscoll?

Yeah, Arlene.

Old
Henry Mengst just call.

He was hunting crawfish
down at Briar's Bog

when a body popped up.

He said it just about
gave him a heart attack.

Delaney, we got us a body
that turned up down at the bog.

You busy right now?

The bog?

Yeah, I'm a
little short-handed.

I could really use your help.

Yeah, sure.

Oh, my god.

It's Tommy Stewart.

The peat moss must've preserved
his body over the years.

You set me up.

What?

You murdered Tommy, didn't you?

I needed the money.

He fought back and
then I killed him.

Give me the weapon, son.

I'm not going to prison.

Give me the weapon.

I am not going to prison.

It was the
strangest thing I ever saw.

There was no
splash, no struggle.

It was as if somebody
reached up and pulled

him down into the bog.

But that wasn't the end of it.

We recovered Joseph Delaney's
body the following day,

and there on his
forehead was a deep gash

that matched Tommy's exactly.

Was it just a
series of coincidences

that brought FBI Agent Joseph
Delaney back to Beauford?

Or was it his own guilt
that led him back?

Like the old cliche, was
he compelled to return

to the scene of the crime?

Or was the dead boy with
the unfinished dream

able to reach from his
grave to accomplish

what he had always wanted to do,
solve a crime and get his man?

Is this story based
on actual police files

or should our writers be
put under investigation?

We'll tell
you whether this story

is true or false at
the end of our show.

Next, a strange curse haunts
a local cemetery on "Beyond

Belief, Fact or Fiction."

One of the world's
oldest occupation

is that of a gravedigger.

It's a profession that's
guaranteed future customers.

And one that has
been spotlighted

in the works of
Shakespeare, Edgar Allan

Poe, and even Stephen King.

And while reverence for the
dead is an essential part

of the work, our
next story deals

with a man who has none at all.

Pete Ringwald is a bitter,
nasty, hull of a man.

In fact, the dead are
probably the only people

he hasn't offended.

But And that may
be about to change.

Thou preparest a table
before me in the presence

of mine enemies.

Thou anointest my head with
oil, my cup runneth over.

Surely, goodness, and
mercy shall follow

me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house

of our Lord forever.

And so, Gabriel Pine.

Me and my
buddy, Bo, got a job

digging graves at
the local cemetery

in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Right away we
didn't like it much.

The thing that bugged us the
most, our boss, Pete Ringwald,

was the meanest man I ever knew.

We hated working for him,
but we needed the money.

Pete had been the groundskeeper
here for the past 20 years.

He never really cared
about nothing or nobody,

especially, the dead.

OK, preacher, it's time to
wrap this medicine show up.

Excuse me?

I said wrap it up.

Put a lid on it.

You're cutting
into my lunch hour.

Let us all join
in a final Amen,

for it's time to leave
these green pastures

and return to our homes.

Amen.

Amen.

Speed it up.

I'm getting hungry.

We're almost there, boss.

Almost don't cut it, moron.

There.

Rest in peace.

Well, that ain't right, Jim.

You shut your
mouth, and don't you

say what's right my cemetery.

Even a damn dog
could do your job.

Now, fill in that hole.

Everything seemed
to boil up Pete's blood.

People said he was
born in a foul mood,

and then he just got meaner.

And
you're an awful, awful man,

you're not well-bred.

Do you hear that, boss?

No respect for
anyone, not even the dead.

Somebody's
singing somewheres.

Shut your mouth,
dummy, I never called no break.

Who the hell are you?

I'm
just an old woman.

Do you like my song?

It's all about you.

Get out of my cemetery
you shriveled up old bat.

You be
warned, gravedigger.

Be warned about what?

Awful, awful man.

Not well-bred, no respect
for anyone not even the dead.

Crazy old broad.

You two idiots get back to work
or I'll fire the both of you.

Telling me my
business, smart asses

think they know everything.

I ought to fire them two boys.

An awful,
awful man, not well-bred.

No respect for anyone,
not even the dead.

An awful, man--

Shut up!

Shut up!

Know Shut up!

with no respect for
anyone, not even the dead.

The next morning, we
had another body to bury.

And Pete was ornery than ever.

Bo and me took it, but
we knew somebody would

have to pay him back someday.

Got it, Bo?

Almost.

Hey!

What the hell did
you do that for?

You're useless, you know that?

Just useless.

An awful,
awful man, not well-bred.

A No respect for
anyone, not even--

You hear that?

What?

- the dead.

Nothing.

Go on and bury this thing.

Bury it deep.

Put rocks on top of it.

Crush it.

Crush it?

That ain't right.

I said crush it!

We ain't going to do that.

It's beyond holy.

Get the hell outta here.

I never want to see
the two of you again.

I'll do it myself.

An awful,
awful man, not well-bred.

Silence!
Stop singing.

You hear me?

You're dead.

You hear me?

You were warned.

Aaah.

Nooo!!

Pete Ringwald died in the
old woman's grave that day.

The doctor said it looked like
something scared him to death.

What's the explanation here?

Was this an elaborate
plan of revenge

engineered by the two
disgruntled employees?

If so, was the old
woman in on it, too?

Or was her spirit just
making sure that her body

received a proper burial?

Is this story of
the wicked cemetery

boss based on an actual event?

Or are we burying the truth
between a mountain of lies?

We'll tell
you whether this story

is true or false at
the end of our show.

Next, a woman becomes
an uninvited guest

at a stranger's
funeral on "Beyond

Belief, Fact or Fiction."

Books can be viewed
as food for the mind.

Stop reading them and your
brain can become anemic.

Read junk, and your thinking
can become malnourished.

But handle your
diet of books well,

and your lifelong
learning never stops.

Florence Tyler has an
insatiable appetite for books.

Although she's a teacher,
she barely takes any time

off, because the world
offers so many opportunities

to learn more.

Or curiosity has always
been a benefit for Florence,

but suddenly, it appears
to have created a problem.

And now she's about to learn
something even her curious mind

could never expect.

M. Anthony
Brinksman had

been a top lawyer practicing
for over five decades.

His client list was a who's
who of the rich and famous.

Send her in, please.

That's why I couldn't
imagine why he contacted me.

Mr. Brinksman,
this is Miss Tyler.

How do you do, Miss Tyler?

I'm M. Anthony Brinksman.

Hello.

I agreed to meet with
you Mr. Brinksman,

but I still don't understand
why you couldn't tell me what

this was about over the phone.

I mean, is this a deposition or
am I in some kind of trouble?

Have a seat.

A very serious
situation has arisen.

I need to make certain inquiries
on behalf of one of my clients.

Look, I don't have much time.

I have to pick up my
son from the babysitter,

and they'll charge
me if I'm late.

I understand.

Please sit down, Miss Tyler.

Are you familiar
with a gentleman

by the name of George
Randolph Parker?

Should I be?

Well, you did attend
his funeral at Willow

Glen Cemetery three days ago.

Oh, that's right.

That's right.

I remember the name, but
I didn't know that man.

I didn't do anything.

I just happened to be
there at the funeral.

Do you often go to funerals
of people you don't know?

I didn't go to Willow
Glen for that reason.

Why we're you there?

I am a high school art
teacher and that cemetery

has a wonderful art collection.

Not many people know that.

I'm familiar with
the collection.

Now explain exactly
what transpired.

This is very important.

I went there to do some
research for my class

I hadn't been there
in quite some time.

I spent about two
leisurely hours

wandering through the
different sculpture exhibits.

I was on my way back
to my car when I

noticed a beautiful old chapel.

It just had the
kind of architecture

we were studying
about in my class.

Let me understand something.

If you had already
finished your research,

why didn't you just leave?

I was struck by the chapel's
old English architecture,

and I wanted to
get a look inside.

And I feel like I'm on
trial here or something.

Please continue.

No, I want to know
what's going on.

I'm sorry, Miss Tyler, but
my client was rather eccentric.

There are certain issues
that must be resolved.

Now please continue.

Like I said, I wanted to
see the inside of the chapel.

The moment I entered, a very
special feeling came over me.

Almost like I was
meant to be there.

It had a lovely decor,
quiet, and serene.

It's always been amazing to
me how something so simple

could be so beautiful.

I suddenly realized that
I wasn't exactly alone.

There was a funeral coffin
set up in front of the altar.

I saw the open casket, and
I felt compelled to pay

my respects to the deceased.

Good afternoon.

Please, be seated.

Oh, Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm
not here for the funeral.

It's time to
begin the service.

Obviously, the whole
thing felt very odd to me,

but I felt so sorry
for the deceased.

There was no one else
there to pray for him,

so I decided to stay.

We are all gathered here
today to say a final goodbye

to George Randolph
Parker, a man who

lived his life by his own rules
regardless of how others felt.

So
the only reason you stayed

was because you felt badly
that no one else was present?

That's right.

The poor man obviously
had no family,

and I thought he might
have been homeless.

Yes, well, go on.

The minister
finished his service,

and I remember saying a
quiet prayer for Mr. Parker.

I couldn't wait to
leave when I was

approached by the
funeral director who

asked me to sign the registry.

Like I said, I found the
whole thing uncomfortable.

But to be polite, I
signed the book anyway

with my name and address.

Well, that's what happened.

And I didn't have another
thought about it until now.

I've answered your questions.

I would appreciate it if you
would tell me why I'm here.

You were wrong about
several points, Miss Tyler.

Mr. Parker did have a family,
but, unfortunately, they all

loathed him.

He was not an easy man to
like, and he had no friends.

But he wasn't homeless, nor
was he indigent by any means.

Well, what does all
this have to do with me?

I called you here to carry
out Mr. Parker's wishes

as set forth in his will.

His estate was to be
divided among whomever

attended his funeral.

What are you saying?

In In that you were the
only person in attendance,

you will be the sole recipient
of his entire estate.

Mr. Parker's net worth
at the time of his death

was $34 million.

Congratulations, Miss Tyler.

I believe that now you can
pay your babysitters overtime.

Oh, thank you.

My dear god, thank you.

By the way,
M. Anthony Brinksman

is now my personal attorney.

Florence Tyler became a rich
woman purely by happenstance

or was it?

Was it her own intellectual
curiosity that drew

her to the cathedral that day?

Or was she lured there
by something deeper?

Could have been the strength
of a dead man's spirit

that called Florence
to the funeral service?

Was this hated
man in life trying

to redeem himself in death?

If you believe
this story, will it

leave you something of
substance to hold onto or will

you merely inherit the wind?

Next, you'll
find out which of our stories

are fact and which are
fiction when "Beyond Belief,

Fact or Fiction" returns.

And now it's time to find
out which of our stories

tonight are totally
made up, and which

are inspired by actual events.

Let's take a look at the story
of the phantom motorcycle.

Was this one, fact or fiction?

Whoo-whee.

Jerry!

Aaaah!

Ow, oh.

Jerry.

The research on
this one shows that

a similar story took
place in the American

Southwest in the mid '60s.

It's true.

What did you make of the
tale about the pool hall

and the legendary player
who turned out to be blind?

Are you hustling me?

What do you care?

Can you beat me?

Play him, Nicky.

You can't lose.

It's $50 grand.

All right.

You're on, hot shot.

There's just one condition.

I want to change cues.

Did this one have the
feel of reality to you?

If it did, we fooled you.

It's absolute fiction.

Let's take another look at
the story of the FBI agent

who made a surprise
confession at the scene

of a murder he committed.

Fact or fiction?

You set me up.

What?

You murdered Tommy, didn't you?

I needed the money.

He fought back,
and I killed him.

Give me the weapon, son.

The story of the
sleepy little town

was a crime committed
by our writers on you.

It's false.

What was your opinion of the
insensitive grave digger who

was buried by his evil deeds?

Fact or fancy?

An awful, awful man--

Silence.

You're dead.

You hear me?

You're dead.

You hear me?

Oh!

You were warned.

Aaah.

If If you guessed this one
was inspired by real events,

you're right.

It happened on the southeast
coast in the late '80s.

Now let's take another
look at the story

of the young woman who
became the only mourner

at the funeral of a stranger.

True or false.

What are you saying?

In that you were the
only person in attendance,

you will be the sole recipient
of his entire estate.

Mr. Parker's net worth
at the time of his death

was $34 million.

This story of the woman who
inherited an unexpected fortune

was inspired by an actual event
that took place in Los Angeles

in the post-world War II years.

Could you trust
your senses tonight?

Did things turn out to
be as they seemed to be

or were your senses
blunted by circumstances

that were beyond sensory
perception, beyond logic?

In fact, "Beyond Belief."

I'm Jonathan Frakes.

The story
entitled "Gravediggers"

nemesis is true, based upon
firsthand research conducted

by author Robert Tralens.

For "Beyond Belief,
Fact or Fiction,"

this is Don LaFontaine.