I'm a US Forest Ranger and I found a video camera abandoned in the wilderness... have you heard of the massacre at the Anima Mundi Collective?

I joined the US Forest Service for peace and solitude, to be alone in the woods and to live simply; not to deal with cryptid encounters, witchcraft cults, disappearances, or murders. But after finding that camcorder abandoned deep in the wilderness, I?ve found myself neck-deep in all of the above.
A bit about myself: I?ve been a USFS Ranger for just over six years. I work out of a decrepit fire watch tower deep in the backcountry of the Shasta-Trinity National Forest in northern California. My station is so remote it can only be reached by ATV. Once every few weeks another ranger joins me on site for a few days, but most of the time I?m out there alone, and that?s just how I like it. My main connection with the outside world is via long range two-way radio. The tower is also equipped with an old PC, but internet is provided by satellite and just barely works and only sometimes.
My tasks include trail maintenance, management of vegetation and wildlife habitat, and oversight of a wide variety of special use permitted activities. Almost all of my patrolling is done on foot.
I love my job and I love my territory, but there?s one spot I avoid as much as possible. Way deep in the wilderness, on the shore of a creek, there?s a group of old abandoned structures beside a natural hot spring. Apparently it was some kind of nudist colony or something in the seventies, and used to be private land. It was absorbed by the federal government after the mass murder of everyone on site. No perpetrator was ever apprehended. I don?t know much beyond that, and I?d rather not know; it isn?t my job. All I know is, out of all the forest, that is the only spot where I?ve ever felt afraid. There?s a heavy air there, almost a presence. You can feel the evil of the place.
Like I said, I avoid it as much as possible. But every six months or so I make a quick sweep to make sure that no one?s been there screwing around. The place is off limits to the public, and the old overgrown path that leads there, a hike of about twenty miles from the tiny dirt road at the trailhead, is gated and locked.
I?ve never run into anyone there, but on my sweep today something caught my eye. On the sandy creek-shore I found a tent?destroyed, flattened, and torn to shreds. It hadn?t been there the last time I?d visited. On closer examination I found what appeared to be dried blood within the tattered remains and, mostly protected from the elements by a flap of nylon, a handheld video camera. It didn?t power on of course, but it only appeared to be slightly damaged; and it looked like it?d been expensive once, nearing professional quality.
As I examined the camera, I felt a shiver go up my spine and had the distinct sensation of being watched, as if the trees themselves had eyes. So, taking the camera with me, I hightailed it back to my fire tower. The feeling of paranoia stayed with me all the way back.
Upon arrival, I immediately radioed my findings back to HQ. My supervisor thought it was probably nothing, but instructed me on how to remove the memory card from the camera and insert it into the PC for viewing. My internet connection is obviously way too unreliable to upload the actual video, so my supervisor requested I view it and if I found anything serious he?d send someone out to collect the camera and memory card.
What I found when I played the video was more horrifying than I could possibly have imagined.
When I radioed in my findings, my boss told me to stop viewing immediately. Federal inspectors would be out to collect the evidence and take over the investigation. But something in his voice gave me pause. It was fear, and perhaps barely concealed anger, and maybe something else. I?m not sure why, but this set off alarm bells ringing in my head. I have a feeling that when the feds get here this will be less of an ?investigation? and more of a ?cover up?. I can?t just let that happen. The kids in this video? they deserved better than what they got. At the very least they deserve to have their story.
I?m not sure how long it will take them to get here, but in the meantime I?m going to attempt to transcribe as much of the video as I can. I?m no great writer, so my descriptions will be quite literal. I?ll be writing dialogue film script style, attributed to the person speaking the words. My own descriptions of images and events occuring on screen will be in italics like this.
Here we go:

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A young man?s face fills the screen, freckled, red haired, green eyed.
YOUNG MAN: Hello, hello, hello viewers! Welcome to our film school final project. I?m JOSH, your faithful camera man for this adventure. Since I?ll be shooting this thing, you probably won?t be seeing much of my ruggedly handsome face, so enjoy it while you can.
Josh raises an eyebrow, pretends like he?s checking himself in the mirror, then gives a goofy grin. The picture is tight on his face.
MAN?S VOICE (OFF SCREEN): Dude, Josh, this is a documentary not a youtube video, you know that right? You don?t have to do introductions, we?re going to edit this all later, and this part will DEFINITELY end up on the cutting room floor.
JOSH: Whatever man, this beast has practically unlimited memory. Better to have too much footage than too little, right? (To camera:) OK then, guess that?s it for me, don?t forget to like, comment, and subscribe!
Camera pans to a very annoyed looking young man with dark shoulder length hair and close trimmed facial stubble. He?s busy wrapping microphone chords and is shaking his head
DARK-HAIRED MAN: You?re an idiot, dude.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): That?s DAVE, our sound engineer and resident grump. As you can see, Dave missed his nap today so he?s a little fussy.
Dave rolls his eyes and continues working. Camera pans left to reveal another young man working on a laptop. He?s dressed in a drug rug hoodie, his hair in short white-boy dreads.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): Next up is PETE, our idea guy, researcher, and lead producer. He?s the man with the plan, and the fat wallet.
The camera swings back around, close on Josh?s face
JOSH (whispering): Trust fund baby?
camera swings back to Pete. He?s smiling
PETE: Dave?s right. You?re an idiot.
Camera pans left to reveal a young woman in a tie-dyed tank top. She?s beautiful with long strawberry blond hair flowing almost to her waist.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): And finally, our lovely director: KELLY. She?s Pete?s girlfriend? in other words, she?s the real boss.
Kelly laughs and does a little mock curtsy.
Kelly: Shut that thing off and help us pack.
CUT TO:
Interior of Pete?s SUV, loaded with film equipment. Pete is driving, Kelly riding shotgun, Dave in the seat behind her next to the camera.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): Where are we going Kell? Describe it for the camera.
Kelly turns in her seat.
KELLY: That really isn?t necessary. Most of this type of stuff we?ll add later as voice over on top of establishing shots and as cut aways.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): Humor me, this drive is boring as hell and this will pass some time.
KELLY: Ok, well? We?re headed to this tiny redneck bar outside of Weed called The Lumberjack, where we?ll be interviewing a guy named James Sutton. He?s a retired US Forest Service Ranger and apparently, back in 1972, he was one of the first responders at the scene after the massacre at the Anima Mundi Collective.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): Which was?
KELLY: Details are kind of scarce, but the Anima Mundi Collective was apparently some kind of like, New Age commune slash nudist colony and natural hot spring. That?s what I got out of the younger brother of one of the victims anyways. He said they were a group of like minded hippy-types that had its roots in Haight-Ashbury, 1967, during the Summer of Love. The movement solidified at Woodstock in August of 1969 and they started travelling together and formulating this philosophy of how we?re all connected by some kind of universal consciousness which they based on Plato?s ideas from the ancient world, as well as a **** ton of LSD. They were together at the Altamont Speedway Free Festival in December of 69? as well, right here in northern California, but after that turned into a disaster they basically realized that the era of ?peace, love, and happiness? had come to an end. They decided to reject and withdraw from what they saw as a corrupt society in order to pursue their own goals. They bought some cheap land in the wilderness near Mt. Shasta and established the Collective.
DAVE: Yeah, and everything went great, real groovy, all flowers and peace signs? right up until they all got murdered in their sleep.
JOSH (OFF SCREEN): Right. Anything to add Research Guy?
Camera pans to Pete behind the driver?s wheel.
PETE: Yeah, just that this Anima Mundi Collective Massacre, it wasn?t the first weird thing to happen in this area, far from it. There?s been reports of supernatural occurrences and stories of strange happenings going back to time immemorial. See Mount Shasta there? That?s the source of the hot springs that the collective was built around.
Camera focuses on Mount Shasta through the front windshield, huge, solitary, snow-capped, imposing, rising in the distance like some ancient monolith to the gods.
PETE (CONTINUES): The thing is a geological wonder, a huge potentially-active volcano in the middle of all this emptiness. So prominent you can see the thing for a hundred and fifty miles in every direction. No ones even really sure when it last erupted. And there?s a million weird stories and legends about it. The Klamath tribe thought the sky god Skell inhabited it?s peak and, during this huge cosmic battle with Llao, the god of the underworld who lived on Mount Mazama, Skell chucked all this lava and flaming rocks at Llao and destroyed Mazama, turning into into a hole we now call Crater Lake.
KELLY: Probably oral traditions passed down from ancient times, ancestral memories of the last eruption events.
PETE: Right, and since then the Indians, like, fast and take hallucinogens and go on vision quests up to the peak.
Camera swings around to Josh?s face. He gives a goofy grin
JOSH: Sounds like a good time.
PETE (CONTINUING): Yeah? but there?s tons of other stories too. Like early American explorers thought there was this huge hidden city-complex in the tunnels under the volcano. This one dude wrote this whole book about how they were a colony of survivors of the lost continent of Lemuria, kind of like Atlantis, and they lived in the tunnels and would be spotted sometimes on the mountain dressed in white robes. He said it all matter of fact, like it was an everyday normal occurrence and everyone just brushed it off. Another dude claimed to have been to the tunnels and that they were full of gold, weapons, shields, and these like giant 10 foot tall mummies. Also, you should see the way the clouds gather around the top of this thing sometimes. I?ve seen pictures and it looks totally other worldly. Some people claim the clouds are cover for UFOs coming and going from the peak, and some even claim to have seen them. All these weird cults have sprung up around Shasta too, groups way into the occult like Rosicurians and Theosophists in the 1800?s, as well more recent ones like The ?I AM? Movement, and Church Universal and Triumphant. All of them consider the mountain and surrounding area to be a holy place. And that?s not even MENTION all the Yeti and Sasquatch sightings?.
DAVE: Oh Jesus, here we go? you guys don?t actually believe this bull****, do ya?
KELLY: Not sure, but I do know it's one hell of a good story for a documentary, and it?s going to make for some VERY intriguing viewing. At least it better.
The SUV is pulling into a tiny parking lot. In front of them is a bar, little more than a dilapidated double wide trailer. The sign above it stating ?The Lumberjack? is half rotted away
PETE: This the place, Kel?
KELLY: Looks like it. Jesus, what a dump. I wonder why he wanted to meet here. Alright boys, get ready to grab your **** and let?s get set up quick. Time for us all to get famous!
CUT TO:
Interior of a run down country bar. Kelly and Pete sit at a table. At the other side sits an ancient old man with a shaved head, leathery skin, and a massive beer in front of him. He is JAMES SUTTON and he speaks through a bottom lip packed full of dipping tobacco.
KELLY: Could you state your name and occupation for the camera please?
SUTTON: James R. Sutton, retired.
KELLY: And formerly?
SUTTON: Formerly with the United States Marine Corp 1942 to 1945 and then the United States Forest Service from 1947 to to 1973. Plus a whole slew of other jobs you probably don?t give a **** about.
KELLY: And how about your age Mr. Sutton?
SUTTON: Born 1921, you can do the math yerself.
KELLY: Sure. Mr. Sutton, we?re here today to interview you about the Anima Mundi Collective Massacre. Are you OK with that?
SUTTON: Uh, yup. Long as you?re paying for the beers.
KELLY: Yeah, that?s no problem. Mr. Sutton, we?ve had a lot of trouble tracking down information about the massacre. Do you know why that is?
SUTTON: Well sure, people round here are the private type. Don?t like drawing unnecessary attention. And something like this? most people would rather forget. Most that we?re there are dead now anyways, think I?m just ?bout the last actual witness.
PETE: Mr. Sutton, is there a reason you haven?t come forward with this information before now?
SUTTON: Just said we?re the private type up here, didn?t I? Maybe you should let the pretty lady here ask the questions and you can just keep yer trap shut. I?m apt to be more amenable that way. I never much like thinking about that day, much less talking about. But I?m no fool, I know I don?t have much time left on this planet. Figure someone one outta tell the story, the true story, before there?s no one left but swindlers and sensationalists. Might even save a few fool city folk from trompin out to the woods and getting themselves killed, if they know what?s out there waiting for em?
Sutton takes a long draught of his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
SUTTON: So, go ahead, ask away.
KELLY: Can you tell us, in your own words, about your time as a ranger and any interactions you had with the Anima Mundi Collective? Any stories you heard or anything you knew about them?
SUTTON: Well, there isn?t a whole lot to tell. Lots of rumors and stories, but little in the way of hard fact. Bunch of hippies set up shop down there on the creek way out in the wilderness. Bought twenty or so I?d guess. They built up a little community on and around the natural hot springs there. Built the pools up and then spent their time doing drugs, each other and god knows what else. It was all private land in those days, ya see? So we didn't have much jurisdiction or reason to go up there, though some of the rangers found themselves excuses, though I expect that had more to do with all the titties flopping around in the open attached to all those beautiful naked ladies. Don?t ask me how they got the land, someone in that flower-child cult must have had a little money, but land was a lot cheaper then too. Especially land like that that no one else wanted.
PETE: Because it was so isolated.
SUTTON: Sure, that kept the gold miners away. You?d think the place woulda been heaven for loggers, what with all the old growth Ponderosa and Sugar Pine, Oak, and Douglas Fir, but they mostly stayed away. A few shops tried to open up over the years, but there were many stories of saw blades breaking for no reason, equipment malfunctioning or being sabotaged, and other unexplained and sometimes fatal accidents. These occurrences were blamed on old Indian curses and the ventures were abandoned. Before that it was Indian land to be sure, the Klamath to be specific. All I know are legends mind you, but they say that the hot springs and land around it were a strange place, a place of power, a place strong with magic. The Indians bathed in those sulphur springs for health and rejuvenation and all were welcome, and also, it?s said it amplified the power of their ceremonies and rituals. But eventually an malicious faction within the tribe took control and perverted the magic of the place, banned all but themselves, and used its power for evil: to cast curses and make war on their enemies, and that hatred turned the place sour. Eventually, the natives left of their own accord.
The camera pans right to show Dave holding a boom mike, an incredulous look on his face.
JOSH (WHISPERING): You buying any or this, Dave?
DAVE (ALSO WHISPERING): Pfff? look at the guy, he?s like a hundred. He?s probably senile, drank his brians into to mush.
SUTTON (LOUDLY): I?m a ninety-nine actually. And my ears AND my brain still work just fine, thank you. Didn?t come here to be insulted by a bunch of ignorant punks with smart phones instead of gray matter. You're gonna carry on like this and I?ll be leaving.
Kelly and Pete shoot them a furious look and they shut right up.
KELLY: Sorry for my idiot friends. They speak another word and they?ll both be walking home, you have my word. Please continue Mr. Sutton.
SUTTON: Thanks doll, you, and ONLY you, can call me James if you want to.
KELLY: Ok, thank you James. So after the Collective set up shop, what happened? What was their relationship like with the rangers and the other locals.
SUTTON: A few run-ins with independent loggers and the militia-types that lives out in the woods, but nothing serious. Locals didn?t like em none, but they owned the land legal-like so there wasn't nothin to be done about it. For the most part the hippies kept to themselves and folk left em? alone in return. Lotta respect for live-and-let-live out here. Besides playing a little Peepin? Tom on occasion, the first time I really interacted with one of em was when that boy crawled out of the forest all ruined like he was.
KELLY: Right, after the massacre?
SUTTON: Uh, yup. That?s right, though I didn?t know that?s what it was at the time.
KELLY: Can you describe what happened that day.
Sutton?s eyes dart back and forth. He?s hesitant.
SUTTON: Never told this story to anyone ya know. Don?t care much to talk about it, but like I said. I guess it?s time. Maybe it will bring me some peace.
He takes another long pull on the beer, draining it and pushing the empty glass across the table to Pete.
SUTTON: Grab me another one of those, would ya son? Then I?ll spill the whole can a? beans, tell ya whatever you wanna know.
Pete gets up and heads to the bar, glass in hand. Kelly and Sutton share a long look in the awkward silence. Pete returns with a full beer.
KELLY: Whenever you?re ready, James.
Sutton closes his eyes for a moment, takes a long breath and lets it back out as a sigh.
SUTTON: So it?s late August of 73? and me and my partner, man by the name of Gary Johnson, we?re in our truck doing our rounds of the little dirt logging roads, just like normal. All of sudden we come to the spot at the trailhead that leads to the commune there, and I see this shape in the road and tell Gary to hit the breaks. We stop and get out and see it's a person, a boy to be specific, about nineteen, and he?s just a mess, all bloody and broken like. People gave those hippy-types a lot of grief back then, called em cowards, pinkos, called em weak and effeminate and a whole lot worse. But I tell you, this one had some serious guts. Both legs were shattered, he was covered in blood, and his head was just bout half caved in. He must have crawled the entire twenty miles like that, ground to hamburger as he was. That particular hippy was one tough son of a bitch, and he hadn?t been ready to die just yet. Gotta respect that.
He stops and spits dip into an empty beer bottle on the table. Kelly does her best to hide her disgust, but fails.
SUTTON: At the time I thought ?he must be dead?, but when I reached down to touch him, the second my hand touched his back, he sat right up like I?d startled him and he looked right at me, his eyes cloudy as a blizzard. ?What happened to ya son?? I says. And he looks at me and says, ?It came for us, it came in the night. Raining stones, knocking on the trees. Full of hatred. It bashed the **** out of us. Then it took em?, took em? out in the trees, had its way. And they?re screaming and screaming and screaming. I can still hear their screams. Horrible, horrible, horrible screams. Nothing I could do but listen to the screams. I had to get out.? And I says ?Who son? Took who? What took who?? ?Forest wives,? he answers. And I can?t think of what that means or any response, so I just tell him to shush that it's OK now, we?re going to get him safe, and on the way back to the station he dies right there in the bed of the truck.
PETE: Jesus?
SUTTON: Don?t think he had anything to do with it, though his opposite might have. Anyways, we get back to the station and drop off the poor *******?s body for his loved ones to collect. Then we tell the others what we had seen and what he?d said, and we all got loaded up with gear and armed up and headed out there, some in trucks others on dirt bikes and ATVS.
Sutton pauses. His face is strained. He chugs down his fresh beer in a few big gulps then pulls out a dip canister from his flannel shirt pocket and tries to open it. His hands are shaking badly now. Kelly reaches across the tin, opens it for him, and slides it back. He nods to her.
KELLY: Mr. Sutton? James. It?s OK. I know this must be difficult. We don?t want to force you to do anything you don't want to do. If you don?t think you can continue?
PETE: Kel?
KELLY (CONTINUING): Then it?s ok. We can find another way.
Sutton takes a deep breath and pops a heaping pinch of dip into his lip pocket. There?s the faintest hint of tears at the edges of his eyes. But he?s started now, and he?s determined to finish.
SUTTON: When we got there, to the site of the Collective or Commune or whatever it was? the place was a disaster. I was at Iwo Jima during the war and I seen some bad things?men dying and dead, shot and stabbed and blown to bits, I seen soggy bloated corpses rotting on the beaches and others burnt to a crisp, both Japs and and our boys; but I never saw anything as horrible as I saw that day by the creek in Shasta-Trinity National Forest. Everyone one of the structures they had built there?short, squat huts of stone and Indian style long house of bark and hide?everyone was obliterated, smashed to pieces as if the Almighty himself had smote them.
Kelly and Pete share a glance
SUTTON: The structure they had built over the main hot spring?walls of large river boulders and a thatched roof? has collapsed onto the water, pushed over as though by a bulldozer. Several arms and legs jutted out of the rock pile at bizarre angles, their owners either crushed to death beneath the boulders or drowned beneath the scalding water. Maybe both. And those were the ones who got off the easiest. The rest were strewn about the compound, mostly torso with heads crushed to oblivion so they were unrecognizable as humans, brains crushed into the ground, dark red blood like halos stained that sand underneath. All around were mismatched arms and legs, ripped from the bodies and all jumbled together like it had rained human limbs instead of water. And some of those limbs?. Some of them...
He pauses again, waivering, trying to keep his composure
SUTTON: Some of them showed bite marks. They was chewed. The head ranger, he said animals had been at them, probably bears. But I?m not stupid. I seen bear bites, from both black and brown, and that wasn?t no bear bites. No, I recognized the marks. They looked like HUMAN bite marks, WAY too large to be any normal human known to science, but human all the same. ****er must have been enormous. It was pure carnage. Pure malice and hatred had done this. All the dead I seen on Iwo Jima, it was always different. Those were soldiers. They?d signed up for this and knew what they were getting into, knew what could be waiting for them on the next beach. They?d accepted that, almost expected it. But not these boys. They were civilians, innocents. I may not have agreed with their point of view, those hippies, but god damn it they were just kids, innocent kids trying to make a difference, trying to change the world for the better in the best way they knew how. And here?s where it got them. Here was the end of the road, in a clearing by the river, massacred like so many cattle.
Sutton leans back in his chair and covers his eyes with his hands. Kelly starts to say something but Pete grabs her hand and shakes his head. If Sutton stops now he?ll never finish.
SUTTON: But you know what the strangest part of the whole thing was? We counted eleven dead total after sorting through that gore, every one of them male. We knew there had been women there, maybe 10, maybe a dozen of more, but none were here among the dead. All of the women had disappeared without a trace.
Pete spreads a map on the table. There?s an area circled in red, deep in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest, on the bank of a creek.
KELLY: Mr. Sutton? thank you. You have no idea what this means for us, for our investigation? what it could mean for the families of the dead and missing. I just have one more favor to ask.
She points to the circle on the map
KELLY (CONTINUING): Is this the place? Is this where the Anima Mundi Collective was located?
Sutton?s eyes grow wide. He?s shaking his head
SUTTON: Oh, you foolish kids. You poor idiot kids. Nothing good can come of this. You HAVE to promise me you won?t try to go there.
CUT TO:
Kelly, Pete, Dave and Josh (behind the camera) are back in the SUV, pulling out of the parking lot. Behind them James Sutton leans against a truck his head hanging low, maybe weeping but we can?t quite tell.
JOSH (OFF CAMERA): So? we?re totally going there aren?t we?
KELLY: Damn straight!
She lets out a woop and guns it onto the main road, leaving a cloud of gravel and dirt in the rearview mirror. The van fills with laughter.
TO BE CONTINUED
X


Source.