Monolith

I wanna tell you a story.

Ever since I was young,

there was something different about my family.

A secret.

Mom reckoned she'd been followed her whole life.

Well, this one time, we're at the beach,

and Mom sees this guy pointing a camera at us.

She starts going off at him,

but he's just frozen watching us.

He says, "I'm sorry, this is just the way it has to be."

And then he runs.

Until slam!

He jumps straight in front of a car.

Like it was deliberate.

Dead on impact.

After the ambulance takes him away,

I pick up the camera he dropped.

It's a model I've never seen,

and there are thousands of photos on it,

and every single photo

is of Mom and our family.

At the swimming pool, outside our house,

at the movies, the supermarket...

A photo of my brother smoking a bong.

Mom wasn't crazy.

She had been followed her whole life. But it was impossible--

Do you think you can send me

these photos, Jarad?

See, we gave the camera to the cops,

but months later, they tell us,

they have no record of this stalker.

Like, he never existed.

And the camera just disappeared.

So you don't have any evidence

of any of this happening?

Oh, don't you get it?

This stalker was a secret agent from the future,

and our family play a really important part

in something that happens in a future timeline.

That's--

That's a pretty big leap, Jarad.

You don't believe me.

I know you, lady.

You think I'm a joke?

You're the joke.

I watched you online.

I know the kind of person you are.

You're a fraud! After the shit you pulled on your last gig,

you should be working at a fuckin' donut shop...

- Jarad. - ...not making the news.

I'm gonna hang up now, okay?

I'm the chosen one, bitch!

I'm freakin' Harry Pot--

I wanna tell you a story.

All you have to do

is listen.

I would like to publicly apologize

for my recent mistakes

when I was reporting on the history of David Langley.

I failed to corroborate evidence

and thoroughly investigate my key source's background.

And I would like to clarify that

Mr. Langley was cleared of any criminal offenses

related to the claims in my article.

The Evening Journal's objective is to provide open access

to high-quality, independent journalism.

My actions do not reflect The Evening Journal's

operations or integrity.

Thank you for your time.

Chew and chew and chew.

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.

A peck of pickled... shit.

Welcome to Beyond Believable,

the podcast that investigates

the unbelievable firsthand accounts of...

Beyond Believable,

the show that unmasks the mysteries--

This is a clickbait podcast

made for bored, lonely ballbags

with IQ levels below a lobotomized monkey. Enjoy.

I want to expose the truth.

Hey, it's me.

I just wanted to officially welcome you to the team.

We're so excited that you're gonna jump on board.

I know it's a little...

beneath what you're used to,

a little mystery podcast, but...

I figure with everything going on, it could be

a great opportunity for you.

So, call me when you can.

We can plan your first story--

Oh, hey, just checking in to see how you're going.

I'm just, you know, I know you're probably

looking for the right story,

something that really sings to you.

But to be honest, we just need to get--

Now, seriously.

I've been nice up to this point,

but I stuck my neck out for you

when nobody else would touch you.

I'm getting a lot of heat here,

and I need you to deliver and deliver today--

Hello?

Hi. Is this, uh, Floramae King?

Yes. Who is this, please?

I'm a journalist from a podcast called Beyond Believable.

It's about mysteries that--

Sorry, I can't hear you well, hon.

Hang on a tick, I'll go into the other room.

- Mom. - No worries.

Put that back before you break it!

Sorry. Yes?

I received a, uh...

well, I guess you'd call it an anonymous tip-off

about a brick.

Is this about Paula's boy?

I told him to stop lobbing bricks

into that empty house on Hunter's Road.

Uh, no.

Look. It's probably nothing,

but I received an email about some sort of

specific brick, and you.

Hello, Ms. King, are you there?

The email wasn't very clear,

but they gave me your phone number.

Who gave you my phone number?

As I said, they were anonymous.

My daughter is over for lunch

and I don't think that we should be talking about this.

It won't take a moment.

I just want to ask you a couple of quick questions.

What's this for, again?

It's for a podcast.

I thought you said you were a journalist.

I am.

All I want is a little background information,

and then I will be on my way.

Is there anything you could tell me about it?

The brick was such a long time ago.

When you say brick,

I'm not sure I understand what you mean.

Like, a house brick, or something...?

No. It...

it was like nothing I'd ever seen.

- It-- It changed my life. - How?

These aren't good memories. I shouldn't talk about this.

It's a very long time ago, and

- I don't think I can help you. - Ms. King.

Can I call you Floramae?

I guess.

I'm thinking that if I got this anonymous email,

I wouldn't be surprised if other journalists have too.

- Really? - Mm.

I don't want other people to twist your words, Floramae.

No.

So let me tell your story properly.

It'll only take five minutes, promise.

Okay. Five minutes.

I just wanna let you know I'm recording this.

Is that okay?

Mm-hm.

You said this happened a long time ago.

How long ago are we talking?

It's gotta be close on 20 years, maybe more.

Can you tell me what your life was like back then?

I worked for a family.

Housework, cleaning, looking after their kid.

Nice people, but a bit well-to-do.

- You know the sort. - Sure.

But good employers.

They were even paying to put my girl

on a scholarship to a good school.

They treated her like she was their own daughter.

We were so grateful for everything they gave us.

But something went wrong?

One day, something happened in the house that

I still can't explain.

What do you mean?

I don't know if I can say it.

I'm not here to judge you, Floramae.

I just wanna listen.

Well, one day, I came in to find

all this terrible damage to their furniture.

Big, awful scratches across everything.

The dining table was the worst.

It was like somebody was so angry,

they grabbed the sharpest knife they could find

and stabbed and stabbed at the table,

making these big, deep scratches.

Sounds really frightening.

It was, but... but it got worse.

The family thought that my girl Paula had done it.

She was only a kid

and she swore black and blue she didn't,

but they didn't believe her.

Did you think she did it?

It makes me ashamed.

Paula never admitted it.

There was a lot of pressure,

and I didn't feel that I could stand up to them.