DREAMING THE DREAMERS

On this night, at the same time, 145,357 people in the northern hemisphere will dream the same dream.
In this dream, they will find themselves on the edge of the sea, the waves crashing and raging, the wind whipping the spray off the top of those waves, the sandy beach on which they stand empty for a mile in either direction.
But then, in the distance, one way or another, there will be movement. With the spray and the distance it is hard to see exactly what it is, but this dark shape, something like a man, will move with purpose towards the dreamer.

Everyone who dreams this dream will be filled with the greatest fear, and will run, stumbling, the wind howling and buffeting, the waves crashing, the sand slipping underfoot, the shape getting closer with implacable intent.
It will nearly be on the dreamer, when they wake. Sweating. Breathing fast and shallow. Sick in the pit of their stomach. 145,357 lights will go on, and there will be nothing there but the familiar shapes, a sleeping partner, that wallpaper that was meant to be changed last year. Some will stay awake, some will eventually return to sleep, but all will get up in the morning and go about their day and the memory of that dream will fade over time.
For 145,356 people that is. For the other - the chase is still on, and now the hunter is out of the dream and in an underpass, or a lonely street, or a quiet corridor in a hospital at night, or slipping up the stairs, as quiet as night.