The Pinkerton Detective Agency's internal records partially open to researchers in 1967 contain a curious entry dated September 23rd, 1896. Agent Pinkerton returned from Harper's Ferry assignment. Submitted written report and verbal briefing. Exhibited unusual agitation. Requested immediate reassignment to Western Territories.
Request granted. File sealed by order of senior management. three days after Pinkerton's departure, the Jefferson County advocate published a small notice. The Blackwood sisters have closed their boarding establishment indefinitely due to family matters requiring their attention elsewhere. The house stood empty for several months before being sold to a family from Washington DC who reported finding the premises in immaculate condition as though thoroughly cleaned before departure.
Edward Collins, the real estate agent who handled the sale, later recalled, "The house was spotless, unnaturally so for a building that had been vacant for months. No dust, no cobwebs. The basement had been completely whitewashed, floor to ceiling, and smelled strongly of lye. The kitchen had all new equipment, perfectly clean pots and pans that looked as though they'd never been used. Most strange was the garden.
It had been dug up entirely, and the soil replaced with fresh earth. When I asked about this, the neighbor said the sisters had engaged in a flurry of activity just before leaving, working day and night in the garden. Said they'd mentioned something about enriching the soil before departure." Collins added a detail that he had not shared publicly before his interview with Professor Whitaker. The new owners discovered something unusual during renovation several months after moving in.
When removing wallpaper in the dining room, they found what appeared to be a ledger or accounting book concealed within the wall. They contacted me knowing I had handled the sisters' affairs. The book contained entries that made little sense. Lists of names with dates and amounts, but also weights and what appeared to be evaluations of quality. Terms like prime, select, and standard appeared next to some names.
I advised them to destroy the book, which they did. Some things are better left unexamined, particularly in a house where one must continue to live. The sisters themselves seem to vanish. No record of their departure exists in local transportation logs. No forwarding address was filed with the post office.
Their substantial account at the Harper's Ferry Bank was closed with funds transferred to an institution in Philadelphia under the name Shepherd Sisters Investment Trust. The only possible sighting comes from a porter at the Baltimore train station who reported to police in October 1896 that he had assisted three ladies of mature years traveling with an unusual amount of luggage, including several large trunks that required two men to move, boarding a train to Philadelphia. He recalled them particularly because the youngest had a peculiar intensity to her gaze that made me uncomfortable, and the middle one insisted on handling certain small cases herself, saying they contained fragile items. The porter's statement, taken as part of the Phillips family's private investigation, includes an unsettling detail.
One of the trunks was damaged during loading, and the corner broke open slightly. I noticed a peculiar odor and offered to repair it, but the eldest lady declined most firmly. She positioned herself to block my view of the contents, but I glimpsed what appeared to be glass jars or containers inside, carefully packed in straw. The youngest sister whispered something to her that I couldn't hear, and they both looked at me in such a way that I felt it best to complete my duties and remove myself from their presence as quickly as possible. For nearly 50 years, the story of the Blackwood House faded from local memory, becoming little more than an occasional reference in discussions of businesses that had once operated in the town.
The sisters' departure coincided with a period of economic decline in Harper's Ferry, and more pressing concerns occupied residents' attention. The house itself passed through several owners. County records show it was sold three times between 1897 and 1923, with each sale occurring after the owners had lived there less than five years. A curious pattern emerges in the reasons for these sales. Each family cited a desire to seek opportunities elsewhere or return to relatives in more populous areas.
None mentioned any specific dissatisfaction with the property. Yet none stayed long enough to establish deep roots in the community. Henry Goodwin, who purchased the house in 1912 and sold it again in 1916, later told his grandson, "Nothing wrong with the house itself. Solid construction, beautiful views, but it never felt right. My wife complained of bad dreams.
Said she could hear sounds in the walls at night, like something moving or scratching. The children refused to play in the basement, said it smelled wrong and made them feel sick. I'm not a superstitious man, but even I had to admit there was something off about the place. We never discussed it openly, just decided one day it was time to move on."
It wasn't until 1953 when Professor James Whitaker began researching commercial enterprises in post-Civil War Jefferson County that questions about the Blackwood House resurfaced. Whitaker, a meticulous historian with a particular interest in how the war had transformed local economies, stumbled upon the sisters' story almost by accident. Among the documents he discovered in the Jefferson County courthouse basement was a series of unusual purchase orders from a chemical supply company in Baltimore. The orders made between 1892 and 1896 listed substances that had no obvious household application but were known to have sedative properties when administered in small doses. The chemical orders included quantities of chloral hydrate, a sedative that was commonly available in the period but rarely purchased in bulk by private citizens.
Also listed were various preservative compounds, chemicals used in the tanning of leather, and substances that could effectively mask the natural taste of food when added in small amounts. Whitaker's curiosity led him to expand his research. He uncovered the journal kept by Dr. Morris Fletcher, the local physician during the period the boarding house operated. In an entry dated October 1896, shortly after the sisters' departure, Fletcher wrote, "Have examined the basement room at the request of the new owners. Found evidence of extensive cleaning, though traces remain.
The drain in the floor shows signs of frequent use. The hooks in the ceiling are not consistent with normal food preparation. I have advised the new owners to seal the room entirely. Some matters are best left undisturbed."