A Performance for the King of Darkness

I was six years old, and the world seemed vast and full of mysteries. My friends and I weren't afraid of the darkness—we almost loved it. So we decided to prove to everyone that even the most menacing legends aren't so scary: we'd put on a show and invite the King of Darkness himself.
Without our parents' knowledge, we composed a letter: clumsy, full of mistakes, written on scraps of paper, but from the heart. "Dear King of Darkness! Come to our performance! We came up with everything ourselves and sewed the costumes from old scarves!" we wrote with trembling fingers. And then somehow we managed to send it—either we tossed it into a dark crevice by the old well, or entrusted it to the wind.
The letter reached the castle. In the dimly lit office, the Dark King unfolded the poorly sealed envelope and peered at the dancing letters. Instead of "please," it read "please," instead of "performance," it read "performance." And suddenly his stern face softened slightly. "They're not afraid of me, " he thought. "They just want me to come."
He carefully folded the piece of paper and tucked it into his cloak pocket. “Well, ” muttered the Dark King, “I’ll come.”