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 world

of both truth and deception--

a world that is beyond belief.

The world of illusion and reality

are often difficult to separate.

This frame contains a three-dimensional sculpture

of the face of Albert Einstein.

By moving the frame, the sculpture moves, too.

You see both the left and right sides of Einstein's face.

You can even move it up or down.

But here's the surprising truth.

There is no sculpture on this side.

In fact, the space where a face appears is concave.

The real face of Einstein is actually on the other side.

So it is with our stories tonight.

What appears real may be hollow on the inside.

Your challenge is to decide which are true

and which are lies.

We'll tell the answers at the end of our show.

Reality or illusion?

Not an easy decision.

But don't ponder too hard.

The choice may be difficult, but it certainly

doesn't take an Einstein.

Comic books are serious business these days.

Where once cartoons seemed to be centered around characters

like a clever mouse or a sassy bunny,

they're now more about terrorizing

the reader into being a frightened mouse,

or reduced to a scared rabbit.

Our story is about a cartoonist who once had the ability

to draw terror in every panel.

But lately, he's lost his touch.

What's about to happen to his life is anything but comic.

Izzy Wilson was once respected as the King of Horror,

and made lots of money creating a variety

of truly twisted comic books.

But respect is the last thing he's

now getting from his publisher.

The overbearing--

I've seen this all before, man.

insensitive Kip Sherman.

Come on, Izzy.

What are you doing to me?

I'm not doing anything to you, Kip.

I'm just trying to deliver something

scary like you asked me to.

Izzy, this is garbage!

Belongs in a trash can, all right?

It's good work.

I think it's some of my best.

You gonna argue with me?

No, Kip.

I just think it could really score for you.

Yeah, yeah.

Maybe a 2.

I need a 10.

The kids today are a lot more sophisticated

than they used to be, Izzy.

Don't you know that?

Hey, I can't even show my face at a comic book convention

any more, man, they're laughing at me.

It's gotta be the real thing, Izzy.

It's got to be real.

Maybe I could add a little more blood or something.

Izzy, any idiot can add blood.

What in the world happened to you?

It's the something you're not getting, OK?

It's the something that you're not getting.

And I don't know what happened to you, man.

You used to be good.

Maybe if you just gave me a little more direction.

Direction?

Oh, Izzy.

What more direction do you need, Izzy?

I want you to scare me.

That's all.

Don't you understand?

Scare me, Izzy!

I want you to scare me, man.

I want you to scare me to death.

OK, OK, Kip!

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I didn't hit it for you, OK?

All right.

Just get out of here, man.

Just go.

Just go.

You better hit it this time, Izzy, or it's over.

I'm gonna hire one of these new kids right out of art school.

I'm sorry, man.

Listen.

I'm tired of carrying you, Izzy.

I've been carrying you for 10 years, man.

I understand.

Then make it quick.

Burnout.

That evening, Kip

Sherman collapsed on his couch.

It was easier to collapse than to try to sleep

with a guilty conscience

Huh?

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute!

Ah, hold on, hold on.

Take it easy.

Take it easy.

What time is it?

Aw, man-- ungodly hour.

Yeah?

Sir I'm sorry to bother you so late.

Are you Kip Sherman? - Yeah.

Do you have an employee by the name of Izzy Wilson?

Yeah.

Why?

I hate to tell you this, but he committed suicide.

What?

Kip had destroyed Izzy.

He had broken his spirit and taken away his will to live.

Aw!

But he wasn't about to admit it.

Izzy!

This is Izzy.

Oh, Izzy.

I can't believe this.

He jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge?

Yeah.

We pulled him out of the Bay a few hours ago.

Last time you saw him, were there any problems?

No!

No, he was in good spirits.

He-- [sighs] this is too much.

This is-- it's like losing a member of the family, you know?

I mean, I was his boss.

But we were-- we were good friends, you know?

I mean, really, we were brothers.

Oh, man.

Kip made several stops

before he stumbled home in the early hours of the morning.

Aw.

What's this?

Hm.

Oh, man, that's weird.

He must have sent a messenger before he killed himself.

The envelope was addressed to Kip from Izzy.

And from the feel of it, it contained illustrations.

What a day.

Oh-- [chuckles] Izzy!

Scare me!

I want you to scare me, man.

I want you to scare me to death.

Izzy, Izzy. OK, OK, Kip.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I didn't hit it for you, OK?

What is this stuff?

I don't know.

Poor Izzy.

Oh, my god.

The wacko drew his own suicide.

Oh, man.

This is Izzy.

Were there any problems?

No. No!

This is really sick.

This is really sick!

Oh, wait a minute.

How did you know I went to the morgue, Izzy?

That's me standing there.

Kip.

What do you think, Kip?

Scary enough for you?

Are you scared yet, Kip?

Am I scaring you now, Kip?

Izzy, no, no.

Did I have to die to scare you, Kip?

Aah.

Are you scared, Kip?

Aah!

- Die! - Ah.

Die!

Ah!

Die!

Kip Sherman was pronounced dead

from a heart attack he suffered while reviewing

drawings for a new comic book.

When the police arrived, all they found

were Kip's body, the drawings, and some seaweed

from the San Francisco Bay.

Did Izzy really commit suicide?

Or did he somehow fake his own death to terrorize his boss?

Perhaps the police officers were paid to lie.

Was the morgue attendant in on the deception, too?

Or did Izzy's spirit actually come back to wreak revenge

on his insensitive boss?

How else could the final panel have been so accurate?

Is this story a sketchy diagram of lies?

Or is it drawn from the truth?

We'll tell you whether this story

is true or false at the end of our show.

Next, a pickpocket encounters the strangest crime of his life

on "Beyond Belief--

Fact or Fiction".

Planning a trip soon?

How will you protect your valuables?

How about a belt with a secret compartment?

Or a pouch that you could wear under your clothes.

Now, this is a fake soda can, in which

you can hide your valuables.

Thieves are difficult to outsmart,

especially pickpockets.

In fact, the crime of pickpocketing

was once a capital offense in England.

Its punishment-- a public hanging.

And while the convicted pickpockets were being hanged

in the town square, other pickpockets

were walking around picking the pockets of the crowd.

Louie Wolski comes from a long line

of pickpockets who have preyed upon the weak and unsuspecting.

The sad truth is, Louie is proud of his disreputable heritage.

But he's about to make a move that

will take his foolish pride and pick it clean.

Yeah.

Come on!

I've been a pickpocket for most of my life.

My Uncle Willy was a grifter, and he

taught me all the tricks of the trade

when I was just 10 years old.

He even gave me my nickname-- Louie the Dip.

He said I was the best little pickpocket he ever saw.

A crowd isn't just a crowd to me,

it's 100 different opportunities.

And when opportunity knocks, I answer.

Of course, I had to be careful.

I had two prior convictions, and another one

would send me up for life.

I did it!

The counter's always open for action.

I just heard the numbers on the radio.

I won. I won the lottery!

Hi, Eric.

Hey, just like last week and the week before that.

- Uh-huh. - Yeah.

Last week I was one number off.

This week, I got them all right.

I'm telling you, I won!

Four million smackaroos.

I got the ticket right here in my wallet.

Got it down at Charlie's Groceries.

I go there all the time.

Did I get lucky?

You won't be laughing when you see me pulling

up in my brand new Caddy.

Everyone knew the mark was a big bag of air,

but I wasn't so sure.

Besides, this was too easy.

Just in case the big blowhard did have a winner,

it now belonged to me.

I couldn't wait to check the numbers.

I don't believe it.

You're telling me this ticket is worth $4 million?

That's

That's right, baby.

And everybody in the bar was laughing at the guy.

But I figured it was worth a shot.

Man!

Can I pick them?

I just got it, you know?

When you got it, you got it.

Now what do we do?

Well, the guy said he bought it at Charlie's Groceries.

So I go down there tomorrow morning, put down the ticket,

claim my money.

It's his word against mine.

And then we are out of this dump.

Could we go someplace tropical?

We can go anywhere you want.

Come on, baby, let's celebrate.

Me and Penny celebrated well into the night.

I finally did it.

I hit the big score.

I was too excited to sleep.

And besides, I was feeling a little paranoid.

So I decided to hide the ticket in a safe place.

My Uncle Willy taught me a long time ago

that you can't be too careful, and you

shouldn't trust anybody.

Let's face it, Uncle Willy never even dreamed of a score

like this.

Hey.

Wake up, it's pay day.

Hey, how come you slept out here?

No reason.

Guess I just passed out.

What are you doing?

I hid the ticket, you know, in case somebody broke in

or something.

What's wrong, Louie?

It's not here.

Look, I put the ticket in here.

It's-- it's not here.

You sure that's where you put it?

You're a little out of it.

Check your wallet.

I thought maybe in my sleep I

did put it back in the wallet.

It had to be somewhere.

No, it's not here, either.

You didn't take it, did you?

Shut up, Louie.

I didn't steal it.

You probably lost it, you moron.

No, no.

That's not possible.

I was going nuts.

I had the ticket.

I put it in the can.

And then it disappeared.

I tore the house apart and went through my wallet 100 times.

The big score of my life was gone.

I had to go back to work.

It was a busy Saturday afternoon at the bar.

Most of the folks had gotten paid the day before.

I spied a woman with an open shoulder bag.

It was no $4 million, but it might

buy groceries for the weekend.

I couldn't believe I was doing this again.

But I lost my ticket to the good life.

I was back to being Louie the Dip.

Smooth, just like always.

Hold it, sir.

Hey, what's going on?

I didn't do anything.

Easy!

Easy! Take it easy!

We're police officers, and you're

under arrest for pickpocketing.

Oh, you are out of your mind!

Yeah, right.

Hm now.

Where did this come from?

Empty your pockets and let me see some ID.

I knew they had me.

There was no way around it.

Then they asked me for my ID, and I couldn't

believe what happened next.

Mr. Daley?

Yeah?

Is this your ticket?

This is it!

It's my lottery ticket!

Wait a minute.

How did that get in there?

I lost that!

I mean, I never had it.

I mean, that ain't mine.

Look, this is a setup.

The mark cashed in his lottery ticket

and became another instant millionaire.

As for me, this was my third strike,

and I'm now serving 25 years to life in Folsom Prison.

And I still can't figure out what happened,

not for the life of me.

How did the missing lottery ticket find its way back

into Louie's wallet--

a wallet he had searched through many times?

Could a sharp-eyed guy like Louie

possibly have overlooked it on every occasion?

Then again, maybe he was set up by his girlfriend.

Or is it possible that Louie had finally

become prey to the ultimate predator-- the one none of us

can escape?

Perhaps Louie he was a victim of fate.

Is this story of an unlucky pickpocket to be believed?

Or have we switched the truth for a pocketful of lies?

We'll tell you whether this story

is true or false at the end of our show.

Next, a mystery letter finds real life terror

on "Beyond Belief--

Fact or Fiction."

For many people,

one of the true joys of life is to settle down

with a good mystery novel, especially

one that has twists and turns and an unexpected scare or two.

But what about the writers who create these stories?

What are their own lives really like?

Frank Young is a mystery writer who tries

hard to lead a normal life.

Recently, he and his wife have moved into a house that

seems perfect for the scary style of stories

that Frank creates.

But before too long, the author is going to wish he

were in a different profession.

My wife Brenda and I haven't

been getting much sleep lately.

It's been the same thing every night

ever since we moved into this new house.

It's a great old house, built in the 1920s by Mo Fitz.

He was a notorious gangster and bootlegger

who was shot to death in the living room back in 1928.

It might seem strange that anyone would want

to live in a house with such a dark history,

but I'm a mystery writer, and I'm fascinated by every detail.

Ah.

Maybe we should stay in a hotel.

I just can't stand the thought of another sleepless night.

You still think it's the wind, Brenda?

Frank, this house is not haunted.

All old houses make noise.

I just know what it sounded like to me.

Right.

Like a little girl crying out for help.

It could be.

In one of her books, it could be.

In reality, it's just the wind blowing across the roof

and down the chimney.

But I closed the flue last night.

Remember?

I have to get to work.

We'll talk about it tonight.

All right?

I love you.

I love you, too.

Bye.

Help me.

Please help me.

Help me.

Please help me.

Six cups of coffee later, and I'm ready to work.

At least I don't have a long commute.

My office is right here at home.

The only problem is, I can't get that noise

we keep hearing out of my mind.

It's a wailing sound, brief and inconsistent.

Just when we doze off, it starts up again--

almost like it knows when we fall asleep,

like it's trying to contact us.

I have to stop thinking about it and get to work.

I'm on a deadline.

Help me.

Please help me.

Deadline or not, I have to find out what that sound is.

Help me.

Please help me.

That's not the wind, and I'm not crazy.

Help me.

Please help me.

Hello?

Who's there?

Where are you?

Help me.

Please help me.

Hello?

I don't know what's going on,

but I've got to keep searching.

It's so hot in here, I can hardly breathe.

Please help me.

Come on out of there.

I can't.

They'll shoot me.

I have to hide!

Don't be afraid.

Nobody is going to shoot you.

Help!

Somebody help us!

It's just so unlike Frank.

He'd never go anywhere without telling

me or leaving me a note.

We get a lot of these calls, Mrs. Young.

They usually end up OK.

He probably just run out to pick up something,

or he had a meeting he forgot to tell you about.

No way.

That's not my husband.

He never leaves the house when he's on a deadline.

I paged him three times, and he didn't answer.

Look, I know this sounds weird, but I think

he might have been kidnapped.

Why is that?

He's a successful mystery writer,

and he has some obsessive fans.

We need 24 hours before we can file a missing persons report.

You're just going to have to--

Wait a minute.

Did you hear that?

What?

Please help me.

There.

That.

We've heard that every night for the past week.

Help me.

Please help me.

I don't believe this.

Frank!

Oh, my god!

Frank!

What happened?

Brenda.

I couldn't breathe in there.

I thought I was going to die.

It's OK.

You're safe now.

The little girl.

There's a little girl in there.

I saw her before I passed out.

I'm OK.

I'm fine.

Over there, in the corner.

Everyone thinks I was hallucinating.

But I know I was talking to the ghost of Leslie Fitz,

Mo Fitz's 12-year-old daughter.

She disappeared the night of Mo's murder,

and was never found until now.

She obviously hid in the secret chamber on the night

her father was murdered.

And now that I found her, her spirit can rest in peace.

What happened here?

Was Frank really rescued by the cries of a long dead spirit?

Or was the wailing sound that saved his life

just the wind blowing through the cracks

of an old drafty house?

Then how do you explain the ironic history of the home?

Is this story the product of a writer's imagination,

or have we unlocked the truth with the turn

of a skeleton key?

We'll tell you whether this story

is true or false at the end of our show.

Next, a landlady is frightened by an invisible presence

on "Beyond Belief--

Fact or Fiction."

Sometimes there's nothing more chilling than sounds

in the night.

The producers of radio drama understood this well.

Their sound effects table was filled with items

designed to scare the listener.

Rattling sounds.

Subtle sounds of impending doom, like the squeaking of a door.

Violent rain storms.

Or the sound of a stranger coming through a darkened hall.

Geraldine Collins isn't afraid of the unknown

or the sound it may produce.

She's a feisty senior citizen who has

taken control of her own life.

Watch closely, because the footsteps of terror

are lurking around the corner.

Oh!

Oh, hello, baby.

You want to watch TV with mommy?

Yeah.

It's your favorite show.

Oh, yes.

Mrs. Gerald Collins

was anything but a merry widow.

She made extra money each month by renting a small guest

house in her backyard.

At the moment, the guest house was empty.

But that didn't mean she was alone.

Oh, Mimi baby.

What is it?

Is something wrong?

What's wrong, baby?

What is it, Mimi?

I know.

I saw it, too.

It's that prowler.

He's back again.

Come on, sweetie.

One good shot to the head and I'll fix his little red wagon.

You see him, Mimi?

I know you're out there!

I'm armed!

Come out of there and show yourself, you coward!

I'm ready for you!

What?

Who's doing that?

Stop it!

I can't give you a description because I didn't see anybody.

How many times do I have to tell you

he was hiding in the bushes?

I saw him move.

So did Mimi.

Mrs. Collins, this is the third time this week,

I've responded to your call.

And each time it's the same.

You hear a noise outside and no one's ever there.

So what are you saying, I'm nuts?

No.

I'm not saying that.

I checked the bushes.

There are no footprints.

It's been raining all week.

If there was someone there, I'd see prints.

If there was nobody there, then what

knocked my plants down?

Well, it--

Answer me that.

It could have been anything.

The wind, maybe a cat brushed by them.

I don't care what you say.

There's somebody snooping on me.

Mimi doesn't bark at nothing.

What are you going to write down in your report

when I'm murdered?

That the wind did it?

All right.

I'll check the bushes one more time.

Geraldine Collins had no explanation

for what might be happening.

But there was at least one person who did.

Officer?

Officer!

Yes, ma'am?

I know who the prowler was.

Who are you?

I'm Norma, her neighbor.

It was Mr. Harper.

Who's Mr. Harper?

He was a tenant of hers--

Mrs. Collins-- until she kicked him out about a month ago.

He was going through a terrible time.

He begged her to give him more time to pay the rent,

but she wouldn't do it.

He was a really nice man.

He died on the streets two weeks ago.

And she couldn't care less.

So how could he be the prowler if he's dead?

She thinks he's his ghost.

You want to talk about nuts?

Why don't you just shut up, you miserable old woman.

You brought all this on yourself, and you know it.

Evil begets evil.

Why, you nosey old bat!

What you did to that sweet man will not go unavenged.

Oh, you shut up.

You don't even know what you're talking about.

You shut up!

Oh, shut up, you don't know what--

- Oh, why don't you shut up! - Ladies, ladies!

No, you shut up!

That's enough.

I want you both to go back to your houses and cool off.

All right?

Fine.

But I know what I know.

She's completely out of her mind.

There's no such thing as ghosts.

What is it?

What's wrong, Mimi?

It's him again, isn't it?

All right, that's it.

No more cops.

Mama He's going to handle this herself.

Don't worry, it's only a little thunder.

Did you hear that?

He's right over there somewhere.

Now, I'm just going to put you down for a second, Mimi.

I got you this time, whoever you are.

You don't know who you're dealing with, buster!

Come out of there!

Whoa.

This isn't happening.

It can't be!

This can't be!

What?

Oh, leave me alone!

Mrs. Geraldine Collins barely

survived her night of terror.

She moved out of the house the following day,

and continued to relocate four times

over the next five months.

I'm so sorry.

The only problem is

the boot prints moved with her.

Was Geraldine seeing things?

Were her delusions brought on by deep-seated guilt

over her treatment of her former tenant, Mr. Harper?

Or was she being tormented and manipulated

by her righteous neighbor, Norma?

But then, how could Norma have possibly created

those phantom footprints?

Is it possible that those prints were

made by a ghost who came back to collect rent

on a greedy landlady's soul?

Is the story we've just seen based on fact?

Or have we just handed the truth another eviction notice?

We'll tell you whether this story

is true or false at the end of our show.

Next, a teenage girl joins a witches'

coven on "Beyond Belief--

Fact or Fiction."

It seems that more and more people are becoming fascinated

with the occult. Witchcraft, especially among teenagers,

appears to have a peculiar fascination.

Their books, movies, and television shows

often deal with the subject--

sometimes realistically, sometimes tongue in cheek.

Teenager Edie Jamison has become a victim of witchcraft's

evil seductions.

Her gaze is cold, her manner is menacing.

And what her future holds may be in the hands

of a mysterious and forbidden world.

I can't remember ever being one of those stupid,

smiling little daddy's girls.

And when I turned 15, I discovered the dark, seductive

powers of witchcraft.

My parents were frightened by my strange behavior

and demanded that I see a psychologist.

I had heard about Dr. Marion John before.

She supposedly had a lot of success with girls like me.

That didn't bother me at all.

In fact, I welcomed the challenge.

Hi, Edie.

I'm Marion.

I'm leaving.

Your parents say you agreed to see me.

Yeah?

Well, I changed my mind.

I don't need any help.

I'm not sick.

I'm a witch.

Why can't my parents just live with that?

That's kind of a tough pill for most parents to swallow.

Don't you think?

I don't really care.

Do you know they're afraid of me?

Why do you think that?

Don't pull that psychology junk on me!

I know what you're all about.

What am I all about?

You're trying to change me back into some sweet little

innocent girl.

I was never that.

I was born a witch.

But you wouldn't understand.

Nobody understands.

Only other witches.

Do you know many other witches?

I know a lot of witches.

We're everywhere.

You don't know the power that we have.

If you did, you wouldn't be messing with me.

You know, the dark side of the occult can be very enticing,

especially when you're under a lot of pressure.

This is not about pressure.

It's about power.

My power over you.

You have no power over me, Edie.

Oh, yeah?

What if I put a curse on you?

I can do that, you know.

Go ahead.

Put a curse on me.

I'm not afraid of you, Edie.

You will be, Marion.

You'll see me in your nightmares.

And everything in your life will go wrong.

The next time I saw Dr. John, I

almost didn't recognize her.

My curse was apparently working.

Hello!

I want you to remove the curse now!

Why?

You said I have no power.

Don't mock me, Edie!

My fiance left me.

My house had a fire in it.

My office was robbed.

And your face has been in my dreams

every night for the past week.

I want it to stop.

Do you hear me?

I want it over.

Tell me you believe I'm a witch.

All right.

You're a witch.

Now, take off the curse.

No.

What do you mean, no?

I've told you everything you wanted to hear.

This is too much fun, doctor.

You're really helping me.

You're helping me learn my craft.

I want you out of my life.

It's too late.

I'm joining a coven.

Once I'm a member, it'll be all over for you.

Get out of here.

Get out!

Sleep well.

The night I joined the coven

was the most exciting and frightening night of my life.

I couldn't wait to be officially inducted

and follow their rules for the rest of my life.

Even though I knew I was meant to be a witch,

I was still terrified by the intensity of the ceremony.

I had never experienced such a combination of fear and ecstasy

before.

Take me, high priestess.

I'm ready.

Make me one of you.

Rise before the high priestess.

Ah!

Oh, my god.

Oh!

Ah!

Repeat these vows, and pledge your allegiance to the coven.

As above, so below.

I now become a part of thee forever.

As above, so below.

I now become part of thee forever.

You are now a sister of this coven,

and you must obey our rules forever.

I will obey.

Dr. John?

No.

It can't be. You're not a witch.

I hexed you!

It was all a trick, Edie, to get you to join this coven.

What do you mean?

You're now a witch, but a good one, just like all of us.

This coven is devoted to kindness and beauty.

No! No!

No, I don't--

I don't want that!

It's too late, Edie.

Now you'll see me in your dreams.

And you won't be able to wish evil on anyone else again.

That night, my life changed forever.

I lost the hatred in my heart, and became

the happy, caring person I was always meant to be.

What really happened here?

The doctor in our story claims that she has pioneered

a unique new treatment to de-program misguided teenagers

from witchcraft.

She tricks them into taking vows for good, not evil.

Do you believe this?

Or do you believe the doctor is really

a good witch, using her own positive power to battle evil?

Could this story possibly be true?

Or is it an example of our writers plying their craft?

Next, you'll find out which of our stories

are fact, and which are fiction, when "Beyond Belief--

Fact or Fiction" returns.

It's time to take a look back at our stories,

and find out which ones are inspired by actual events,

and which ones are works of fiction.

Now let's look back at the story of the cartoonist

who haunted his publisher and scared him to death.

Fact or fiction?

Kip?

What do you think, Kip?

Scary enough for you?

Are you scared yet, Kip?

Did you think this one was simply too far

out to really have happened?

We fooled you.

We based this story on an actual occurrence

that took place in the late '60s on the West Coast.

How about the story of the pickpocket who

lifted a lottery ticket?

True or false?

Oh! Easy, easy.

Take it easy.

We're police officers, and you're

under arrest for pickpocketing.

Oh, you are out of your mind!

Yeah.

Right.

Now, where did this come from?

Empty your pockets, and let me see some ID.

If you guessed this one was totally made up, we got you.

According to our research, this is what happened

to a pickpocket in New Jersey.

It's fact.

What did you think about the story

of the mystery writer who became a part of a real life mystery?

Was it true or false?

Maybe we should stay in a hotel.

I just can't stand the thought of another sleepless night.

You still think it's the wind, Brenda?

Frank, this house is not haunted.

Did you think this story was too strange to be true?

Well, research tells us that a similar story

happened in the Midwest in the early '80s.

What about the tale of the footprints that

haunted the unfeeling landlady.

Real or hoax?

Come out of there and show yourself, you coward.

I'm ready for you!

Did you think this story really happened?

Not this time.

We were tracking lies through the mud.

It's false.

What was your opinion of the teenaged girl who was tricked

into dropping her evil ways?

I'm a witch.

Why can't my parents just live with that?

That's kind of a tough pill for most parents to swallow,

don't you think?

Did you think this tale of witchcraft

was nothing but smoke?

Our research tells us it happened in New

England around the late '70s.

It's fact.

So what is it that separates fact from fiction?

Why do thing happen to all of us that

have no logical explanation?

The more we seek an answer, the more

we realize that the only true explanations are beyond belief.

I'm Jonathan Frakes.

The stories entitled "Louie the Dip,"

"The Wailing," and "Curse" are true,

based upon research conducted by author Robert Tralins.

For "Beyond Belief-- Fact or Fiction,

this is Don LaFontaine.