Argument

"I presume, noble gentlemen, you are awaiting the moment when I will reveal the reason for this extraordinary gathering," Tromvewell began loudly, overly pathetic as usual.

"Extraordinary, you say?" Jack said from the depths of his armchair. "Your gatherings, ugh! gatherings are always extraordinary or exceptional.

" "Well, my dear friend, our gatherings are very rare, and one could speak of their extraordinary and exceptional nature," Michael continued majestically.

"But of course, extremely rare," Older replied irritably. "We have such 'gatherings' once a week, and in my opinion, one a week too many."

"Are you not interested in current affairs?" he asked, offended.

"I'm old, and I'm less and less interested in these 'current affairs'. They're just nonsense made up on the spot. Fiction, fiction! I really doubt your crazy theories.

" "My theories – crazy?! Fiction?! Michael nearly crushed the desk he was leaning against with his massive hand. "I saw it with my own eyes!" the gray-haired man said, growing increasingly agitated. "Or am I supposed to feed off the lies surrounding me?"

"Do we have to revisit these arguments every week?" Alex spoke up from the shadows in the corner. "You're both crazy."

"Forgive me, but you're the youngest and have the least to say." Jack craned his neck to glare at Tweed.

"Maybe, but at least my mind isn't as exhausted as yours with age," the forty-year-old retorted.

The candlelight in the large room revealed the men's frowns. Dressed rather elegantly yet simply, they could pass for ordinary people. However, one of them held a secret the others were not entirely convinced of. They attended these gatherings to please Jack, though it was also a perfect opportunity for the three good friends to meet.

Absorbed in their argument, they didn't notice the small, swirling speck, its black body expanding at a dizzying pace. Suddenly, like a puff, all the candles were extinguished, and a momentary silence reigned.

"Damn it!" Tromvewell spoke first. "Who's idea was it that we had to sit by candlelight instead of normal light?

" "You!" Alex and Jack replied in unison.

"Are you sure?" he asked, surprised.

"Of course you did. Who else would have thought of something like that?" Tweed snorted.

"Maybe instead of complaining, young man, you'd turn on the light?" The thin Older practically melted into the armchair, and if it weren't for his squeaky voice, his presence would have been unmistakable.

"As you wish, old man." With that, Alex moved from the chair towards the light switch.

"Well, better now," Jack blinked, his eyes adjusting to the brightness.

Tromvewell glanced at both friends. Alex's tired, dark face and Jack's large glasses on the bony triangle of his face.

"What, is that..." he began to say, his gaze fixed on the black hole that took up a large part of the room.

"My God!" Alex cried when he saw it.

At the same moment, it lengthened as if to embrace the old couple. Jack and Michael didn't even have time to utter a sound, it engulfed them so quickly. A moment later, it was gone. Tweed rubbed his tired eyes.

"So, that's how it looks," he said, leaving the room. "The old man was right."

Closing the door to the room, he forgot about the whole incident. He headed for the exit, his steps a bit stiff. He jumped down the steps and took one last look at the house. The house that was the only witness to remember so many such stories. Alex quickly ruffled his blond curls, glanced at the empty street, and set off on his way.