Original subtitles

"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.