Tourists Vanished In Colorado – 8 Months Later Found In Shed, WRAPPED IN OLD RUGS

July 2019, near Westcliffe, Colorado. Rancher Frank Develin, scouting an overgrown barn for pasture expansion, stumbled into a scene that would shock the entire valley. Inside the moldy, abandoned shed, he found an oblong bundle of old carpets—too neatly folded for a place untouched in decades. The stench was heavy, rotten, and unmistakably alive. Frank didn’t dare touch it. Instead, he called the police, unwittingly ending an eight-month mystery that had haunted the San Isabel Mountains since the previous fall.

The bundle concealed the remains of Valerie Dixon and Annie Casease, two young friends from Denver who had vanished on the Rainbow Trail in November. Their disappearance triggered one of the most intense search operations in Colorado history—rangers, helicopters, canine teams, and volunteers combed 30 square miles of rugged wilderness. But the mountains kept their secret until the summer thaw.

The Vanishing

November 21, 2018. Valerie and Annie arrived at the Rainbow Trailhead in a gray Subaru, signed the visitor log, and set out for a weekend hike. They were experienced, knew the area, and planned to return the next evening. Annie always sent her brother a satellite message after every trip—but this time, no message came.

When the silence persisted, worried relatives called the authorities. Rangers found the locked car, untouched, with spare clothes and maps inside. The weather was cold but clear, turning deadly at night. Search teams fanned out, following every trail, ravine, and campsite. Helicopters circled above, but dense forests and rocky shadows hid everything. The only clue: the dog teams lost the girls’ scent a mile from the trailhead, where the path diverged.

Days became weeks. Snow buried all tracks. The case was classified as a disappearance under unexplained circumstances. The forest was silent, giving up nothing but the cold.

The Discovery

Eight months later, Frank Develin entered the barn at Old Stone Creek Ranch. The carpets hid two bodies, side by side, partially mummified by the dry mountain air. Identification was made by a leather bracelet—a birthday gift—and a small flower tattoo. The medical examiner found no violence, no broken bones, no signs of struggle. The cause of death: hypothermia, accelerated by a toxic plant—spotted Kikuda—found in Annie’s stomach. The poison, common in the local swamps, causes confusion and paralysis in minutes.

But the way they were wrapped—neatly, deliberately, with double-knotted ropes—suggested someone familiar with fieldwork. The carpets themselves contained rare herbicide traces and pine needles unique to the remote White Pine tract. Underneath, a torn map marked with an alternative route, not on official charts, led investigators to their first suspect.

The Trail Reviser

The fingerprints on the map belonged to Daniel Shaw, a former Forest Service ranger known for his obsession with secret routes. Shaw admitted to selling a hand-marked map to a mysterious man named Robert, who paid cash and asked for trails far from tourists. Robert was described as tall, gray-haired, with a scar on his cheek.

Security cameras revealed a gray pickup trailing the girls’ Subaru at a Westcliffe gas station. The man’s face, half-hidden, bore the same scar. The carpets were traced to a batch sold by an antique dealer to a buyer named Victor Grant—another alias. The real name: Martin Rhodess, a former poacher with a history of hostility toward hikers and a belief that “the forest is a test.”

The Forest’s Shadow

Rhodess lived off the grid, drifting between abandoned shelters. His green Jeep was found near White Pine, packed with maps, climbing ropes, and a vial of Kikuda extract. In the trunk, detectives found a diary. The entries were chilling:
“Two arrogant girls on Rainbow Trail. Nature is not an amusement park. They learn the true price of loneliness.”

He described following Valerie and Annie, poisoning their water, and leading them off the trail into the deadly cold of White Pine Gorge. He watched as they succumbed to the elements, documenting their suffering as a “test of nature.” Afterwards, he moved their bodies to the barn, wrapped them with ritual care, and took locks of their hair as trophies.

A Pattern of Darkness

Inside Rhodess’s mine hideout, police found a catalog of missing hikers, personal items, and another diary detailing other “tests” conducted over the years. Newspaper clippings of mysterious deaths—accidents, poisonings, and disappearances—were all marked with notes, hinting at a pattern far darker than anyone had suspected.

The case exploded into a full-scale manhunt. Rangers, K-9 teams, and helicopters swept the mountains, but Rhodess vanished into the wilderness he knew better than anyone. His footprints disappeared into rocky soil and old pine needles, leaving only rumors and ghostly sightings.

Aftermath and Legend

The families finally buried their daughters, but closure was elusive. On the anniversary of the disappearance, Valerie’s mother found a bouquet of wildflowers from the highlands of San Isabel on her porch—no note, no witness, just a silent message. Hikers began reporting sightings of a scarred man watching from the trees, moving parallel to trails, always vanishing before anyone could approach.

Officially, the case remains open. Unofficially, Martin Rhodess has become a legend—a shadow among the trees, a reminder that evil can hide in the most beautiful places. The forest, with its sunlit paths and silent gorges, keeps its secrets well. And for those who venture too far, it can become home to something much darker than wild animals or sudden storms.

Two tourists vanished in Colorado. Eight months later, they were found wrapped in old rugs, victims not just of nature, but of a man who believed the wilderness belonged to him alone. And somewhere in those mountains, the shadow still moves, silent and unseen.