Full Body Chills - The Reward

Episode Date: October 28, 2022

A story about a hiker turned hero who finds fortune and fame.The RewardWritten by Ryan C. MajorYou can read the original story and view the episode art at fullbodychillspodcast.com. Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production. Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck

This episode was produced with audio effects in full surround sound. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Hi, listeners. I'm Michael David Axtell, and I have a story I want to tell you. A story about a hiker turned hero who finds fortune and fame. So gather round and listen. Close. The nickname came from you folks in the media. They called me a vulture, so I leaned into it.

Shortened it to just Vulture, for simplicity. I'd prefer to be called Thomas Langford, but sometimes you have to give in to nicknames. It can feel like a forced label, but for me, I guess it's provided a level of notoriety. Why do they call me the vulture? Well, I find dead bodies, and I get paid to do so. It's a little less morbid than it sounds. While most people are satisfied with a mundane existence, standard 9-to-5, house, a kid or two. I managed to find a way to co-mingle my only two passions in life,

true crime and backpacking. After four years of college, an unpaid internship, and an entry-level position as a crime scene tech in a major metro area, I was already burnt out. Too young to be fed up, my only escape from the daily grind was to pack up my camping gear and head to the woods. I'd hike for miles, set up camp, then wake

up to do it all over again. Sleeping under the stars recharged my batteries. After a weekend in the woods, I could return to work with a little less weight on my shoulders. At first, I stuck to the forest and trails close to home, but over the years, I began to travel out of state. I'd spend hours online researching scenic trails and hiking destinations, anything to scratch that itch. And eventually, as with all burgeoning hikers, my attention fell on the Appalachian Trail. I knew I couldn't do the AT from end to end on one trip. That's called a through hike, if you didn't know. Making it 2,200 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin, Maine takes roughly

five to seven months. The department would never allow me a leave of that length. So rather than hike it from end to end, I settled on section hiking. That's where you start at either end of the trail and travel a predetermined distance. When your next vacation hits, you pick up where you left off. It may take years, but doing it like this

lets nearly anyone complete the trail in their lifetime. That became my plan. A pretty good one, if you ask me. I started on June 8th, 2015. Got about 18 miles out of Springer Mountain. I was making good time, all things considered. But I was drinking too much water. Dehydration on a trail is bad news, and admittedly, I tend to overdo it with water and electrolytes. I couldn't go more than two miles at a stretch without having to stop and take a piss. That's how I ended up finding her. See, when you've got to use the bathroom on the trail,

proper etiquette dictates you head about 200 feet away from the trail or camp. So every two miles, I had to break away to relieve myself. It was my second day on the trail. The sun was starting to get low. I knew I wanted to make a few more miles until I set up camp, but my bladder wasn't going to make it to the campsite. With a thick enough tree line to block the view from the trail, I figured it was as good a time as any,

so I made my way in and walked under the shadowy canopy. I was just finishing up when I looked over and saw what looked like an old hiking pack. It was half buried underneath a few fallen branches and leaves. But as I walked over, I could tell the sun-bleached bag had once been this nightmarishly bright pink color. And based on how tattered it was, I guessed it had been there for years. I crouched down and began to reach for the pack when my crime scene tech voice rang out in my head. Don't touch it, man. You don't have gloves on. Take a look around. If nothing else seems out of place, then you can take a look. Even in the heart of the Georgia wilderness, my work was

haunting me. It was just an abandoned pack that some lazy day hiker left behind because it got too heavy. It wouldn't hurt to look inside. But what if that wasn't what happened? I ended up searching the area for a half hour to see if I found any other clues before I touched the bag. I was meticulous. I expanded one of my walking sticks and began to push the undergrowth to the side as I scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. There was no reason to assume anything bad had taken place, but too many years documenting crime scenes made my mind travel down dark corridors. Sometimes those dark corridors lead to accurate assumptions.

This is the part where I wish I could tell you my years of education and experience helped me solve the mystery, but it was dumb luck. I was trying to use the walking stick to turn over a fallen log, but I couldn't get the proper leverage, so I shifted my foot back for better balance. But the ground wasn't steady and I began to slide backward. Leaves and branches crackled under my weight. The ground seemed to cave in and I fell over. I landed inside this knee-deep hole that had been covered up by the brush. I was worried I'd stumbled into an animal den, so I flailed wildly as I pulled myself back out.

As I sat panting and trying to calm myself, I turned toward the hole and realized it wasn't a den at all. The foliage on top had been disrupted during my sudden descent, and I could see these thick branches that were laid carefully across the top, covering whatever was underneath. And there was something underneath. I fumbled for the flashlight in my pack and pointed the beam into the opening. And there, partially obstructed by the cave-in of branches and leaves, I could see the ivory outline of leg bones. Well, you can imagine my shock. It's funny. Dead bodies were an everyday occurrence for me at work. But finding one unexpectedly hit a little different. Knowing you're collecting

evidence at the scene of a triple homicide settles a bit easier than falling in a hole with skeletal remains. You can mentally prepare for bodies at work, but in the wild, not so much. After a relentless hike back to my truck, I hauled ass to the nearest police station. I had tried calling

several times, in fact, but my cell phone never found a signal. The local agency took me back to the site on an ATV. I showed them the shallow grave

and gave them a detailed explanation of how I found it as their tech crew investigated the scene. They asked me lots of questions, and by the end of all the excitement, I decided to end my hike early. The department asked me to stay in town

for a few days, though, in case they had any follow-up questions. On my second day in a local motel, a detective called and asked if I would come to the station and talk. I agreed, assuming it would be more investigative questions. When I arrived, the detective shook my hand and led me inside. I followed him into a conference room where an older lady with a mess of gray hair sat behind a table. Her name was Deborah Arnold, the mom of the girl I'd found. Turns out her daughter Stella had been missing since 2001. She hugged me through her tears, thanked me for finding her baby.

It was overwhelming and awkward. I definitely wasn't used to that kind of attention. We talked a bit more about Stella, about the investigation into what they thought was a homicide, but right as I was about to leave, Deborah began to dig through her purse and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to the detective and he extended it to me. Turns out there was the reward for locating Stella, put together over 14 years by her family, friends, and some local businesses. As soon as I got back to my car, I tore open the envelope.

And no joke, my jaw hit my chest. $22,000. Now, that wasn't the moment I became the vulture, but it was the moment the egg began to hatch. A bad pun, I know. No, social media planted that seed. After details of Stella's case were revealed to the public, including my discovery, the press hounded me. Everyone congratulated me and thanked me for helping bring closure to the family. And I'll be honest, it made me feel ten feet tall. I'd never been one for standing in the spotlight, but damn, did it feel good. An unexpected side effect of the media coverage was an explosion of activity on my Twitter account. I'd had it for years,

and mainly used it to post photos and videos from my hiking trips. Before the press coverage, my tweets usually got a handful of likes and a retweet or two, but not much action. But after the interviews, my account was receiving thousands of likes and comments. You know, once you get a taste of adoration, it is a hard thing to give up. As the months carried on, the attention died down. Life returned to normal. The reward money helped me pay off my student loans and reset my finances. I was even able to take extra time off from work to plan some additional trips. It was fantastic. Even as the media attention dwindled, my Twitter account remained pretty popular. The posts always got tons of interaction.

People recommended trails, and I'd go hike them, give my two cents to my followers. A few companies even sent me free hiking gear if I agreed to post photos of me using it. It was wild. Then someone made the suggestion. I opened my account one morning to find someone had retweeted something from my account. Above their post, they wrote, why doesn't this guy try to find other missing people? In the comments, hundreds of people responded with names and locations of people who had gone missing in local forests and national parks. Some of them even had a reward amount with the information. And so, from 2015 to 2017, I did just that.

In two years, I made 17 trips all across the country. I didn't succeed every time, but I managed to find the remains of five missing people. The reward total was over $120,000, nearly three times my annual salary. The media ate it up. Most outlets hailed me as a hero, but there was a growing number who couldn't help but point out

that I only searched for bodies with a monetary reward attached. So I tweeted a statement that basically explained that while I loved to help these families find closure, travel was expensive and I had bills to pay. And oh boy, did that quote piss off a mob. A popular online news outlet wrote what I considered to be the first hit piece of me. It was a punchy little op-ed written by some 20-something who probably made more from that one article than I did at my tech job. This was my favorite part. I memorized it, word for word. Thomas Langford, known for his cross-country treks in search of missing and deceased persons, says,

quote, I have bills to pay. Yes, sir, we all do, but most of us don't make a living by being a vulture of misery circling above grieving families. You have a morbid talent for locating missing people. I celebrated your discovery of Stella Arnold in 2015. The reward was well-deserved. But everything that followed has been an effort to profit off the misery and desperation

of grief-stricken family members. You aren't just a vulture. You are the vulture. I never read an article or blog post about my exploits after that day when that charming little nickname didn't pop up. But like I said, sometimes you just gotta lean into it. Changed all my social media to Vulture, made it a part of my brand, and it quit bugging me.

Until I hit my dry spell. To the delight of my critics, I didn't find a single missing person from 2018 to 2020. Over 25 trips and nothing to show for it. I'd foolishly quit my job to dedicate my time to recovery efforts, but without a stable income, my bank account hit the red. The press ate it up, of course. Article after article, documenting my decline and speculating about how long it would take for me to lose my house. Everyone turned on

me. Even the news outlets that had hailed me as a hero just pointed and laughed as I tried to keep my head above water. They're the real vultures, if you ask me, circling my misery. I did lose my house, and I had to sell most of my possessions. I ended up living in my car, and for a while, it seemed like that was it. Icarus flew too close to the sun, and now he's burned. But after wallowing for a bit, I made up my mind to get back out there. I had nothing to lose, and going back to a 9-to-5 seemed like a prison to me. So I doubled down on my efforts. And wouldn't you know it, 2021 and the first half of 2022 were my years.

I carried out more than 30 trips and found 14 bodies 14! Almost half of my trips ended in a successful recovery The money was a bonus, but I reveled in the media coverage of my comeback I was somebody again The criticism never disappeared, but they had no choice but to recognize my talent I felt vindicated The criticism never disappeared, but they had no choice but to recognize my talent. I felt vindicated. But that's not why you're here, though, is it?

No. You want to hear about my last hike. I understand. That's what everyone who comes to see me now wants to talk about. Sure, I'll tell you about it. Got nothing better to do. After my wave of success over the last two years, I decided I was entitled to a bit of a break. My trips had taken me all over the country, but one trail I had never hiked was on Old Rag Mountain in Virginia.

I was due a little relaxation, so I packed up and headed out. I took my time on the trail. There was no missing person and no reward, so why rush it? I hadn't been that relaxed in years. The scenery was breathtaking. My financial woes were behind me. The media was mostly behind me too. And for the the first time I felt like I could afford to spend most of my hike doing what I loved. Old Rag isn't a long or difficult trail, but I drew it out. Only two or three miles a day. I'd hike a bit, find a nice secluded spot to set up camp, and then just spend the day relaxing. Camping isn't legal on most of Old Rag, by the way.

If you want to, you're going to have to leave the trail. That's where I met Barry Watkins. The light was getting low, and I was pushing through some scrubby bushes when I saw a small fire and the top of a tent peeking over a stone outcrop. It was a few hundred feet away, and when I got closer, I saw a middle-aged man sitting by the fire. I tossed him a wave, and he threw one back. I think he thought I was a park official or something, because he started explaining that he wasn't going to camp there, but I assured him that I was just looking for a spot to camp myself. If he was okay with it, I said I wanted to set up nearby,

and we could both be outlaws together for the evening. He agreed. Said a little company never hurt anyone. Barry and I spent the next few hours shooting the breeze about various hikes we had taken through the years. He told me a bit about the remains of the old rag hike and we shared a warm meal around the fire. He was a nice fella. Good cook. A bit heavy, though. That should have made me think twice, but hindsight is 20-20, right?

I could hear him snoring about half an hour after he crawled into his tent for the night. The fire was nothing but embers, but the moon was full, and the sky was clear So I had plenty of light But I waited You always want to wait Give him time to get into a deep sleep

You don't realize, but zippers can be real loud in the dead of night You don't want the noise to wake them So I waited till I was sure he was fast asleep. And then, slowly, ever so slowly, I unzipped the door to his tent. He was laying on his back, and I remember thanking my lucky stars he was in a good position. A quick draw of my knife. A deep cut from ear to ear and he was gone in just a few minutes I've found it's easier that way, you know?

Kinder I've tried other methods Where I've watched the person struggle for 10, 15, 20 minutes Bleeding out, gurgling I'd rather it be quick, for their sakes Now don't get me wrong here. I didn't kill Stella Arnold, or the five I found after her. Someone else had done that. All I did was bring closure to those families. But that dry spell? You don't understand how desperate I was. The money had run

out. There was nowhere for me to go, and I was not going to go back to cleaning up brains and blood. I had to show everyone that I hadn't lost my touch, that I hadn't run out of luck. So I made my own. My mother and father always told me to plan for my future, and while this wasn't what they meant, I figured the same logic applied. The hard part isn't killing them or hiding them. No, it's the waiting. You gotta wait about a year. Let the family get desperate and put a reward fund together. Then, after enough media coverage and a decent paycheck waiting for me, I'd go back and find their missing loved one. The family gets closure, I get paid. Everyone wins.

But with Barry, I got careless. Greedy. He was a bit heavier than I could move comfortably. A park ranger out on patrol heard me grunting as I pulled him through the underbrush. The beam of his flashlight hit me like a deer in headlights. I tried to make a break for it, but hauling Barry had sapped most of my energy. My half-hearted attempt to dart through the scrubby mountainside was short-lived.

Even unarmed, the park ranger was more than enough to overtake me in my exhausted state. What a way to go down. So, there's your story. Thomas Langford. The Vulture. Whatever you want to call me. Some people call me a monster. But I don't think that's true.

I just love the outdoors. And I had bills to pay. Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production. This episode was written by Ryan C. Major and read by Michael David Axtell. Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production. This episode was written by Ryan C. Major and read by Michael David Axtell. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. So, what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?