our Bathilda Bagshot moment

So Jacqueline and I went to visit this lady last week and had quite the experience. 

We got to the door of the apartment building, rang the bell, and got a very garbled response. We responded, "It's les Petits Freres des Pauvres," and waited a few more minutes until we heard the door click. Opening the door, we hesitated between going upstairs or down. I led the way up the first little flight of stairs and noticed that the door to our right was slightly ajar. From inside, a scratchy, low, and very creepy voice called out, "J'suis lå" ("I'm here"), and the door swung open a bit wider as we approached. Jacqueline and I looked at each other a bit apprehensively, and then followed the form through the door. The woman we assumed we had come to visit walked slowly through her apartment. All we could see was her back as she shuffled slowly on past the kitchen, past the living room, and into a very cramped, crowded, and poorly lit bedroom. Not sure whether to follow or not, we continued hesitantly. She climbed up on the bed, muttered something to Jacqueline while motioning to the little stool in front of the bed. Somehow I caught the word bathroom. I repeated, "la salle de bain?", and she pointed vaguely to a darkened doorway across the hall. My eyes weren't quite adjusted to the darkness yet, and the light switch wasn't working in the bathroom. I thought to myself how happy I was not to be able to see what was in that bathroom,  since I was almost certain that there was going to be something dead sitting there in the corner. 

literally what we both were imagining. 

After all that, we managed to have a visit with her, although we could only understand every five words or so (we're not sure if she's had a stroke or something that impairs her ability to speak). I'm happy to report that we made it out alive!