Your mind is racing around in circles, trying to find some idea, some strategy, that is going to get you out of this.
There's nothing. You're in a situation, it seems, that it's impossible to think your way out of.
Then a tormented shrieking pierces the night.
The darkness around you seems to flash a bright red as the ground trembles beneath your feet. As you suck in another breath, desperate to regain your balance, you taste copper in your mouth.
The students surrounding you have stumbled to a halt, staring around in wild confusion for the source of that terrible sound. Even gripped by the force or magic that's controlling them, a number of them still clamp their hands over their ears, teeth and fangs gritted. As your vision rights itself, a flock of birds rises from a tree. Half of them fly screeching into the air; the other half collapse to the earth.
"NOW THEN, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ALL DOING OUT HERE?!"
The bellow is loud enough, powerful enough, to almost send you sprawling to the ground as well. The earth under your feet really is shaking now, bucking and vibrating under the force of tremendous footfalls, growing closer and closer.
A figure looms out of the shadows, towering over even the tallest werewolf. Its eyes, two beacons of pure scarlet, glare out over the scene, its bald head reflecting the moonlight so intensely that you're forced to shield your eyes. You see, gripped in one huge, gnarled fist, the whistle that had loosed that dreadful shriek.
"BIT OF ROUGH AND TUMBLE, IS IT?!" Mr. Simmons booms, loud enough that a piece of masonry dislodges from the nearest wall. "OUT AT NIGHT, AFTER CURFEW?! WELL, IF YOU'RE ALL TOO FULL OF ENERGY TO BE IN BED, THEN I THINK THAT WE CAN ARRANGE SOME EXERCISE FOR THE LOT OF YOU! ONE HUNDRED LAPS AROUND THE FIELD, ON THE DOUBLE!"
Before the monstrous apparition can roar more admonitions at the assembled students, one of the werewolves behind him, with a furious snarl, makes a dive for him, teeth bared as it launches itself at the gym teacher's throat.
Mr. Simmons barely seems to move, but the crack that sounds as the werewolf is thrown backwards, smashing into a row of startled vampires, is louder than any gunshot.
"HIGH SPIRITS, IS IT?!" he howls at the assembled students. "WELL, MAYBE LAPS AREN'T WHAT YOU NEED! WHY NOT—"
But once again, Mr. Simmons is interrupted. This time, it takes the form of about ten of the students throwing themselves onto him, scratching, clawing, and biting at anything they can reach.
Mr. Simmons throws back his head, letting loose a booming laugh. You have your hands clapped over your ears, but it still feels as though there's a vise squeezing your brain with every note of his deafening mirth. Beside you, Val has fallen to her knees, her eyes tight shut.
And then the gym teacher is grasping the vampires and werewolves who have attached themselves to him, hurling them this way and that, each thrown body managing to find another wavering group of the undead and bowling them over.
The ranks that had surrounded you have already broken into confusion. None of the students are even paying attention to you anymore.
Now's your chance to act.