He appeared as if a hologram at first, then solid, suddenly there and clear as you or I, at the edge of the forest behind Trish Bishop's home in Kissimmee, Florida, the United States.

It was a Thursday in March 2013, the glow of the afternoon tucking in for the day behind the trees. He stood tall, at almost 2m, perhaps 100kg and certainly muscular, wearing a form-fitting tan coloured uniform, boots and gloves. He lingered by the crape myrtle tree in the middle of the backyard.