A wet depot yard before dawn as seen from inside a van cab: a chipped white mug sits on the dashboard, and just outside the rain-spotted window a man in a dark hood presses his face to the glass, eyes wide, peering in. Sodium lights glare on the wet tarmac beyond. No one else is in the frame.

Halloween – Scaring, a ‘how to’ guide…

October 29, 2026
A wet depot yard before dawn as seen from inside a van cab: a chipped white mug sits on the dashboard, and just outside the rain-spotted window a man in a dark hood presses his face to the glass, eyes wide, peering in. Sodium lights glare on the wet tarmac beyond. No one else is in the frame.

Halloween – Scaring, a ‘how to’ guide…

October 29, 2026

Article | Halloween – It Happened to a Mate of a Mate

It Happened to a Mate of a Mate

Four drivers in dark caps and high-visibility jackets stand with their backs to the camera, one holding a phone torch whose beam points forward, at the brightly lit serving hatch of a small roadside cafe at night; a carved pumpkin lit from inside by a small white light sits on the wooden counter among paper cups, and a fifth man stands behind the counter with his back turned.

Across the country, people are opening the door to strangers in masks and handing over whatever’s in the bowl. Drivers do that a hundred times a day. It’s called a drop.

Clive has rules. Every story starts “This is true” and happened to a mate of a mate. He does the phone torch under the chin and for atmosphere switches off the light. No brews till the stories are done.

The Sat-Nav That Joined a Cult

Halloween night, delivering parcels around the back end of Norwich in the rain. Proper sideways rain. His sat-nav suddenly starts talking in this weird calm voice he’s never heard before. “Turn left… into the void.” He ignores it, but every direction gets worse. “In 200 yards, abandon hope.” He’s convinced the warehouse lads have hacked it as a prank.

He pulls over to reset it. Screen flickers and shows a little cartoon skeleton waving. Then it calmly reroutes him to a random field outside the city. He gets there, no houses, just fog and a single scarecrow that looks suspiciously like his old supervisor. Phone rings. It’s the customer. “Mate, where are you? The tracking says you’re in a field of eternal torment.”

He finally gets the parcel delivered two hours late. Next day the sat-nav is back to normal, but every time he drives past a cemetery it still whispers “nice try.” He’s put in a ticket with IT. They’re still investigating.

The Coffin That Wouldn’t Fit

Halloween, last drop of the night delivering furniture in Birmingham: a flat-pack coffin for some student Halloween party. Cheap, heavy, and somehow bigger than the van’s back doors once it’s assembled in the packaging.

He’s trying to angle it in while it’s chucking it down with rain. Coffin’s half in, half out, wedged solid. A group of lads in zombie makeup wander over from the party, all helpful and pissed. “Need a hand, mate?” They start shoving. Coffin goes in, but one of the zombies goes in with it. Proper trapped, legs sticking out, still holding a can of lager.

Takes twenty minutes and a lot of swearing to extract him. Customer comes out, looks at the muddy zombie and the scratched coffin, and just says, “Perfect. He can be the resident spirit.” My mate left before they tried to tip him in beer tokens.

The Van That Became a Haunted Attraction

Last one. Driver up in Newcastle, evening grocery run on Halloween. Fog so thick you could chew it. He parks up outside a block of flats and nips in with the bags. Comes back out five minutes later and there’s a queue of people in costumes standing by his van, phones out, taking selfies.

Turns out some local kids had stuck a handwritten sign on the side: “Haunted Delivery Experience – £2 a go. Touch the cold metal and feel the spirits.” One bloke in a full werewolf suit is charging people to sit in the passenger seat and “feel the presence.”

My mate just stands there with the empty crates. Werewolf looks at him and says, dead serious, “You’re late for your shift, ghost driver. We’ve already taken thirty quid.” He made them take the sign down, but not before someone left a review on the store’s app: “Driver was quiet but atmospheric. Five stars. Would be haunted again.”

  • The one who picked up: Pay as you Track answers the phone. The support team is in-house and UK-based.
  • Open the page: The prices sit on our packages page. Just open it. No wing mirror.
  • What it does, first: Before anyone points you at kit, you’re told what it does. There’s more on our YouTube channel.
  • Wired in: A hardwired tracker for vans, HGVs and motorbikes, hidden and difficult to tamper with.
  • Small enough to hide: A battery tracker for the tool chest or the trailer. 195g, no wiring, battery up to six years.
  • Belt and braces: Recover keeps working even if somebody removes the main tracker.

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