I live across the street from ... wait ... there's no there there. Dry-as-a-bone southern California is socked in by fog, at least where I live.

The neighbor's dog barks out of a deep well of nothingness, while the cats creep in silently as always, gradually appearing as a darkness in the white, and, little by little, taking shape with pointed ears and erect tails (ever hopeful for treats).

In the silence of the mornings I can usually hear the faraway distant growl of the freeway traffic, but not today. It's as though the whole world has dissolved, leaving only my little island of serenity.

Tap, tap. Is anybody out there?

P.S. Comments say that this sounds like Stephen King?? I've never read anything by him, but I'd like to know what story you're referring to.