It was a red building with a tin roof. There was a living tree growing inside one of the rooms. The interior was decorated with antiques, like old neon signs, old wagons, a lobster trap, and boat motors. My favorite decoration was a model biplane made out of tin cans. The tables were decorated with old advertisements. The walls were lined with booths and tables were scattered in the center. Slow turning fans hung from the ceiling. Near the entrance was a model of the building, built by a third-grader for a social studies project. It was really a comfortable room to eat my favorite dinner.

They served the best catfish in central Texas. I had gone there many times, and I always ordered the medium catfish dinner. I received a plate with four perfectly fried fillets. Next to it was a pile of salted french fries and fried okra. I washed it all down with a glass of cold lemonade. My idea of the perfect dinner.

That place was Springhill Restaurant. It no longer exists. It was bulldozed last year, along with the model I had built. The tree that once grew through the roof is now firewood.. In its place is Bee Cave’s 13th bank. Is that supposed the be progress?

I’m still looking for an acceptable replacement.

The winding staircase went spiraling down into the foreboding darkness. The stairs ended at a short tunnel, which lead to a massive cavern. In the center of the was an expansive lake. Thousands of candles lined the walls, their light flickering off the water. A rowboat was hitched to a wooden post in the ground at the edge of the underground lake. Over half a mile of water, on a hill, sits a once shining throne. Years underground have dulled the glint. A few steps away from the throne is a massive organ. Hundreds of silver pipes extruded from the base,  so huge they could swallow a man whole.

A mysterious figure emerges from the darkness behind the organ. This cave is his. The cave is a prison he built for himself. He never has left the darkness of this abyss.

Photo Credit: Morguefile