This 1904 Family Photo Is Calm — Until the Child’s Face Reveals Something Odd

The photograph arrived at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History on a humid Tuesday morning in September 2024.

Dr.Margaret Chen, a curator specializing in early American photography, carefully lifted it from its protective envelope.

The image appeared unremarkable at first glance.

A formal family portrait from 1904, showing a well-dressed couple standing behind three children arranged on an ornate Victorian sofa.

The family’s clothing spoke of modest prosperity.

The father wore a dark wool suit with a high collar.

His mustache meticulously waxed in the fashion of the era.

The mother’s dress featured the characteristic puffed sleeves and high neckline typical of Edwwardian women’s fashion.

Two of the children, an older boy and a girl, sat perfectly still, their expressions serious, as was customary for photographs of that time.

Another donation from the Hartwell estate.

Dr.Chen’s assistant, James, noted as he consulted the accompanying documentation found in a trunk in their family’s old house in Salem, Massachusetts.

The donors believe it might be connected to their ancestor who owned a photography studio there.

Dr.

Chen nodded, beginning her standard examination process.

She placed the photograph under a magnifying glass, checking for damage and studying the photographic techniques used.

The image was remarkably well preserved with sharp details that suggested the work of a skilled photographer using quality equipment.

But as her magnifying glass moved across the children’s faces, Dr.

Chen’s breath caught in her throat, the youngest child, a boy who appeared to be around 6 years old, was staring directly at the camera with an expression that made her blood run cold.

While his siblings gazed blankly ahead with the vacant expressions typical of long exposures, this child’s face was twisted with unmistakable terror.

His eyes were wide with horror, his small mouth slightly open as if caught midscream, and his entire expression conveyed the kind of fear that could only come from witnessing something truly horrific.

“James,” she called softly.

“Come look it.

” This immediately under the magnifying glass, the youngest boy’s expression became even more disturbing.

His terror wasn’t the brief startle of a child frightened by the camera’s loud mechanism or the photographers’s sudden movement.

This was deep, knowing fear, the kind that comes from witnessing something that fundamentally changes a person’s understanding of the world.

The child’s eyes weren’t just wide with fear.

They held a mature understanding of danger that seemed impossible for someone so young.

His gaze was fixed not on the camera lens, but slightly to the right of it, directly at where the photographer would have been standing.

“This is extraordinary,” Dr.

Chen whispered, adjusting the magnification.

“Look at the specificity of his expression.

This isn’t general fear.

This child is terrified of the photographer himself.

” James peered through the magnifying glass, his face growing pale.

The way he’s looking, it’s like he knows something terrible is about to happen or has already happened.

What made the image even more unsettling was that no one else in the photograph seemed aware of the child’s distress.

The parents and siblings maintained their formal poses, completely oblivious to the terror radiating from the youngest family member.

Dr.

Chen examined the boy’s posture more closely.

His small hands were gripping the edge of the sofa so tightly that his knuckles appeared white even in the sepia tones of the photograph.

His body was rigid with tension, leaning slightly away from the camera, as if trying to create distance between himself and the photographer.

I need to research this photographer immediately.

Dr.

Chen said, her voice tight with concern.

There’s something about this image that goes beyond normal photography.

That child isn’t just posing for a picture.

He’s afraid for his life.

The back of the photograph bore the embossed mark.

E Blackwood Photography Studio, Salem, Massachusetts.

Dr.

Chen felt a chill as she realized she would need to investigate not just the family in the portrait, but the man behind the camera who had inspired such terror in a small child.

Dr.

Chen’s research into E.

Blackwood Photography Studio began with the Salem Historical Society’s archives.

What she discovered made her stomach tighten with apprehension.

Ezra Blackwood had operated his photography studio from 1898 to 1905, establishing himself as one of Salem’s most successful portrait photographers, particularly known for his work with children and families.

But the historical record revealed troubling patterns.

Local newspaper archives from the period contained several unsettling references to children who had gone missing after visiting Blackwood Studio for portraits.

The Salem Evening Herald from October 1903 mentioned the disappearance of 8-year-old Lucy Morrison, whose family had brought her to Blackwood’s studio just days before she vanished.

A follow-up article noted that several other families had reported strange behavior in their children following sessions with the photographer.

Dr.

Chen found police reports from 1904 describing complaints against Blackwood.

Parents reported that their children became unusually distressed after portrait sessions with some children refusing to speak about their experience at the studio.

One mother, Mrs.

Catherine Wells, had told police that her six-year-old son had nightmares for weeks after his portrait session, repeatedly saying that the picture man had scary things in his special room.

The most disturbing discovery came in a report filed by Dr.

Samuel Morrison, a local physician who had treated several children after their visits to Blackwood Studio.

Morrison wrote, “These children exhibit symptoms consistent with severe psychological trauma.

They speak in fragments about the dark room where children don’t come out and pictures of children who couldn’t go home.

I fear Mr.

Blackwood’s studio may harbor secrets that extend far beyond photography.

Despite these concerning reports, no formal charges had ever been filed against Blackwood.

The complaints had been dismissed as children’s overactive imaginations or the natural fear some youngsters felt toward the unfamiliar photography process.

But Dr.

Chen noticed a pattern in the dates.

The complaints had stopped abruptly in late 1904, around the same time the photograph in her possession would have been taken.

Ezra Blackwood had closed his studio permanently in early 1905, citing personal reasons in his final newspaper advertisement.

Working with genealogologist Sarah Martinez, Dr.

Chen began cross-referencing the children who had visited Blackwood’s studio with local death and missing person records from 1903 1904.

What they discovered painted a horrifying picture that made Dr.

Chen question everything she thought she knew about the innocent world of early portrait photography.

Between 1903 and 1904, seven children who had been photographed at Blackwood studio had subsequently disappeared from the Salem area.

The disappearances were spaced apart by several weeks or months, which had prevented authorities from recognizing a pattern at the time.

The first was Lucy Morrison in October 1903, followed by Timothy Walsh in December 1903, then Margaret O’Brien in February 1904.

Each child had been brought to Blackwood’s studio for what their families believed would be routine portrait sessions.

In each case, the families had paid for portraits that were never delivered, with Blackwood claiming various technical difficulties or lost negatives.

Most disturbing was the discovery that Blackwood had been particularly insistent about photographing children alone, often requesting that parents wait outside the studio during sessions.

He had claimed this was necessary to help children feel more comfortable and natural, a practice that wasn’t uncommon among photographers of the era.

Dr.

Chen found a letter written by Margaret O’Brien’s mother to the Salem police in March 1904.

Mr.

Blackwood assured us that Margaret would need to return for a second session to complete her portrait, as there had been problems with the lighting in the first photographs.

When we brought her back, she emerged from his studio in a state of terror, refusing to speak about what had occurred.

Mr.

Blackwood claimed she had simply been frightened by the camera equipment, but I have never seen such fear in a child’s eyes.

Margaret O’Brien had disappeared 3 days after that second session.

The pattern was becoming clear.

Blackwood had been using the pretext of multiple sessions to isolate children, and those who showed signs of fear or distress.

Those who had seen something they shouldn’t have were the ones who never made it home.

The child in the 1904 photograph wasn’t just afraid of the photographer.

He had discovered Blackwood’s terrible secret, and his expression captured the moment he realized the danger he was in.

Dr.

Chen’s investigation led her to the physical location of Blackwood’s former studio, now a small bookshop on Federal Street in Salem.

The current owner, Mrs.

Ellaner Hastings, had purchased the building in 1987 and had always known about its previous use as a photography studio.

I’ve always felt there was something unsettling about the basement,” Mrs.

Hastings told Dr.

Chen as she led her through the building.

The previous owners mentioned it, too.

There’s a room down there that was clearly used for something more than just developing photographs.

The basement revealed the remains of Blackwood’s dark room, but also something far more sinister.

Behind what appeared to be a standard developing area, Mrs.

Hastings showed Dr.

Chen a hidden room that could only be accessed through a concealed door behind a false wall.

The secret room was small, windowless, and still bore evidence of its original purpose.

Metal rings were bolted into the stone walls, and scratches in the wooden floor suggested furniture had been dragged across it repeatedly.

Most chilling were the children’s drawings scratched into the walls, crude figures of children, and stick drawings of cameras along with desperate messages.

“Help me.

I want to go home, and please don’t take my picture.

We found these when we first renovated,” Mrs.

Hastings said quietly, pointing to several small personal items hidden in cracks in the walls.

A child’s hair ribbon, a small wooden toy horse, and a locket containing a photograph of a young girl.

Doctor Chen photographed everything carefully, her hands shaking as she documented the evidence of Blackwood’s crimes.

The scratches in the walls told a story of children who had been kept in this room, probably while Blackwood decided their fate.

Those who could be trusted to keep quiet were eventually released.

Those who posed a threat, who had seen too much or understood what was happening, never left.

In one corner of the room, Dr.

Chen found something that made her blood run cold.

Photographic plates hidden behind a loose stone.

When she held them up to the light, she could see faint images of children in various states of distress, some appearing to be restrained.

The child in the 1904 family portrait had somehow glimpsed this secret room or witnessed Blackwood’s true nature.

His expression of horror captured the moment of that terrible realization.

With the evidence of Blackwood’s crimes mounting, Dr.

Chen turned her attention to identifying the family in the portrait, hoping to understand the specific circumstances that had led to the child’s terrified expression.

Working with Salem’s vital records in the Hartwell family genealogy, she began to piece together the identity of the family in the photograph.

The breakthrough came when she found a wedding announcement in the Salem Evening Herald from 1895.

Thomas Hartwell, son of Merchant Samuel Hartwell, wed to Miss Elizabeth Morrison, daughter of Dr.

Samuel Morrison.

Dr.

Chen recognized Dr.

Morrison’s name immediately.

He was the physician who had treated children after their disturbing visits to Blackwood’s studio.

Census records from 1900 showed the Hartwell family, Thomas, 29, Elizabeth, 26, and their three children, Robert, 8, Mary, 5, and Daniel, 2.

By 1904, when the photograph was taken, Daniel would have been 6 years old, the same age as the terrified child in the portrait.

Dr.

Dr.

Chen’s heart raced as she realized the significance.

Daniel Hartwell was the grandson of Dr.

Morrison, the physician who had been documenting the suspicious pattern of childhood trauma connected to Blackwood’s studio.

The family would have been aware of the concerns surrounding the photographer.

Yet, they had still brought their children for portraits.

Further, research revealed why.

In September 1904, Thomas Hartwell had received a business commission that required the family to relocate to Boston.

Elizabeth had insisted on having a final family portrait taken before their departure, and Blackwood had offered them a significant discount, claiming he wanted to photograph one last beautiful Salem family before they moved away.

What the parents hadn’t realized was that Dr.

Morrison had been quietly building a case against Blackwood, and the photographer had become increasingly desperate to eliminate potential witnesses.

When young Daniel was brought to the studio, his intelligence and family connections made him a particular threat.

The terror in Daniel’s eyes wasn’t just fear of Blackwood himself.

It was the recognition that he had seen something that put not just himself, but his entire family in danger.

The photograph captured the moment when an innocent six-year-old boy realized he was looking at a predator who would stop at nothing to protect his secrets.

Dr.

Chen discovered the details of the Hartwell family’s final portrait session through an unexpected source, Elizabeth Hartwell’s personal diary, which had been preserved in the family’s papers and donated along with the photograph.

The entries from September 1904 painted a terrifying picture of that day’s events.

Elizabeth’s diary entry from September 18th, 1904 read, “Took the children to Mr.

Blackwood’s studio today for our farewell portrait.

” The session began normally, though I noticed Daniel seemed unusually quiet and withdrawn.

Mr.

Blackwood was insistent that he photograph each child individually first, claiming it would help him achieve better composition for the family group.

The entry continued.

When Daniel’s turn came for his individual portrait, Mr.

Blackwood asked that we step outside as he often did.

We waited in the front room for what seemed like an unusually long time.

When we were finally called back, Daniel appeared pale and shaken.

Mr.

Blackwood claimed the boy had simply been overwhelmed by the camera equipment.

But the most revealing entry came the following day.

Daniel has been having terrible nightmares since yesterday’s portrait session.

He keeps saying that Mr.

Blackwood showed him pictures of children who couldn’t leave and that there was a scary room where children cry.

I fear that man did something to frighten my son deliberately.

Thomas says we should report this to the authorities, but we leave for Boston in 3 days.

Elizabeth’s final entry about the incident, dated September 20th, 1904, was chilling.

Daniel told me today that during his time alone with Mr.

Blackwood, the photographer showed him what he called his special collection, photographs of children in various states of distress.

When Daniel became frightened and asked to return to us, Mr.

Blackwood reportedly said, “Children who see my special pictures usually don’t get to go home to their families.

” Daniel understood this as a threat.

The entry concluded, “My son then saw Mr.

Blackwood unlocked a door to what appeared to be a hidden room where Daniel glimpsed other children’s belongings and heard what sounded like crying.

It was at this moment that Mr.

Blackwood brought Daniel back to rejoin us for the family portrait.

The terror in my son’s eyes during that session now makes perfect sense.

He thought he was going to disappear like the other children.

Dr.

Chen realized that the family portrait captured the exact moment when Daniel, having just witnessed evidence of Blackwood’s crimes, was forced to pose while knowing the photographer was a child killer.

The Hartwell family’s hasty departure from Salem took on new significance as Dr.

Chen discovered more details about the days following their portrait session.

Elizabeth’s diary revealed that Thomas Hartwell had indeed contacted the authorities about their son’s experience, but the family’s plans to relocate to Boston had provided them with an unexpected opportunity to escape Blackwood’s reach.

A police report filed by Thomas Hartwell on September 21st, 1904 described his son’s account of seeing photographs of distressed children and a hidden room containing children’s personal effects.

However, the investigating officer, Sergeant William Murphy, had noted in his report.

Child’s account is detailed, but may be influenced by recent fears regarding the photographer.

Mr.

Blackwood denies all allegations and claims the boy simply became frightened by dark room equipment.

What Dr.

Chen found most disturbing was that Sergeant Murphy’s investigation had been prefuncter at best.

A subsequent report dated September 25th, 1904 stated, “Unable to locate sufficient evidence to pursue charges against Mr.

Blackwood, the Hartwell family has departed for Boston as planned.

Case closed pending further evidence, but Dr.

Chen discovered that there had been more to the story.

In a letter preserved in the Salem Police Department’s archives, Dr.

Samuel Morrison had written to the police chief expressing his concerns.

The Hartwell Boy’s account aligns perfectly with symptoms I have observed in other children who visited Blackwood Studio.

We cannot dismiss this as mere childhood imagination when so many children have exhibited similar trauma responses.

The letter went on to detail Dr.

Morrison’s suspicions.

I believe Mr.

Blackwood has been using his photography sessions to identify vulnerable children and has been responsible for the recent disappearances.

The Hartwell boy may be the first child to escape and provide a coherent account of what occurs in that studio.

However, the investigation was abruptly terminated when Ezra Blackwood announced his intention to close his studio and leave Salem.

His final advertisement in the Salem Evening Herald, published October 1st, 1904, read, “E Blackwood Photography regretfully announces the permanent closure of our studio.

All outstanding portrait orders will be refunded.

We thank the Salem community for their patronage.

By October 15th, 1904, Blackwood had vanished from Salem entirely, taking with him any chance of justice for his victims.

The Hartwell family’s escape to Boston had saved Daniel’s life, but it had also allowed a predator to disappear without consequence.

Dr.

Chen’s investigation reached its climax when she uncovered evidence that Ezra Blackwood’s disappearance from Salem had not ended his predatory behavior.

Working with law enforcement historians and genealogologists across New England, she traced Blackwood’s movements after 1904 and discovered a pattern of new photography studios and new victims.

Between 1905 and 1910, photographers matching Blackwood’s description and methodology had operated studios in Worcester, Massachusetts, Hartford, Connecticut, and Providence, Rhode Island.

In each location, the same pattern emerged.

Successful portrait photographer specializing in children, reports of distressed children after sessions, mysterious disappearances, and abrupt closure of the studio after approximately 2 years.

The most damning evidence came from Providence, where Edmund Brooks had operated a photography studio from 1908 to 1910.

Police records from Providence revealed that Brooks had been questioned regarding the disappearance of four children between 1909 and 1910.

However, before formal charges could be filed, Brooks had vanished, leaving behind a studio filled with disturbing evidence similar to what Dr.

Chen had found in Salem.

A detectives report from Providence dated March 1910 described the discovery of a concealed room containing children’s clothing, personal effects, and photographic plates depicting children in various states of distress and restraint.

The report concluded, “Evidence suggests that Brooks was holding children in this room for extended periods, possibly to produce photographs for unknown purposes.

Most significantly, Dr.

Chen found a letter written by a Providence police detective to his counterpart in Salem asking about any similar cases involving photographers.

The Salem police had responded that they had investigated a photographer named Blackwood in 1904, but found insufficient evidence to pursue charges.

Dr.

Chen realized that the Hartwell family’s escape and the subsequent failure to properly investigate.

Blackwood had enabled him to continue his crimes for at least six more years, claiming dozens of additional victims across New England.

The terror in young Daniel Hartwell’s eyes captured in that 1904 photograph represented not just his own brush with death, but the moment when a child’s testimony could have stopped a serial predator if only the adults had listened and acted decisively.

The photograph was not just a portrait of a family.

It was evidence of a system that failed to protect children and allowed a monster to escape justice.

Dr.

Chen completed her investigation knowing that Ezra Blackwood had never faced justice for his crimes.

Historical records showed that he had operated under various aliases until approximately 1915 when the trail went cold entirely.

The man who had terrorized children across New England for over a decade had likely died without ever being held accountable for his actions.

But the 1904 Hartwell family portrait had become something more than just a historical curiosity.

It was proof of crimes that had been dismissed.

Testimony from a child whose words had been ignored and evidence of a predator who had been allowed to escape because society wasn’t ready to believe what children were trying to tell them.

Dr.

Chen prepared a comprehensive report for the Smithsonian.

But she also reached out to law enforcement agencies across New England.

Her research had connected dozens of cold cases from the early 1900s, providing closure for families who had never known what happened to their children.

The portrait would be displayed as part of an exhibition titled Hidden Truths, when photographs reveal more than we see.

The exhibition would focus on how historical images could provide evidence of crimes and social injustices that had been overlooked in their time.

When Michael Hartwell, Daniel’s great great nephew, came to view the photograph, Dr.

Chen shared the full story with him.

Michael listened in stunned silence as she explained how his ancestors terrified expression had led to the exposure of a serial predator.

“Daniel survived,” Michael said quietly, studying his ancestors face.

The terror in his eyes saved his life because his parents believed him and got him away from that monster.

Dr.

Chen nodded.

Your family’s decision to leave Salem immediately probably saved not just Daniel, but prevented Blackwood from claiming more victims in the short term.

Daniel’s testimony was ignored by the authorities, but it wasn’t ignored by the people who mattered most, his parents.

The photograph remained at the Smithsonian as a reminder that sometimes the most important stories are told not by the adults who control the historical record, but by the children whose voices are too often dismissed.

Daniel Hartwell’s terrified gaze would serve as a permanent testament to the importance of listening to children and believing them when they report abuse.

In her final report, Dr.

Chen wrote, “This image reminds us that photographs can be more deep than historical artifacts.

They can be evidence of injustice and testimony from those who couldn’t speak for themselves.

Sometimes a single child’s expression can reveal truths that entire communities chose to ignore.

The mystery of the 1904 family portrait had been solved, but its legacy would endure as a call to protect the vulnerable and to always listen when children try to tell us they are in danger.