Stephen King, master of the really thick book, has some news that might surprise you: He likes short stories a lot.

Think about it. The film “Stand by Me” was made from a novella, as was “The Shawshank Redemption.” And “The Green Mile,” while a full-length novel, was unveiled bit by bit in what essentially was a sequence of short stories.

Now comes his latest compilation, “Everything’s Eventual: 14 Dark Tales” (Scribner, 459 pages, $28), in which King professes his love for the short-story genre and even annotates each piece to discuss how he was inspired to write it, how he wrote it, what it meant to him.

It’s still a really thick book. And the results are mostly satisfying, if uneven.

True to King’s recent and pleasing vacillation between supernatural horror and musings about the human soul, these short (and, yes, not-so-short) stories alternate between ghosts and daily life, between the depths of the mind and the depths of the cosmos.

He kicks off with a modern take on Poe, “Autopsy Room Four,” a claustrophobic yarn in which a golfer lies upon an autopsy table awaiting the knife terrifyingly conscious and aware of what’s about to happen to him.

What ensues in subsequent tales pick and choose among ’em, if you wish; no order is necessary is the usual roller-coaster ride through King’s serpentine mind.

“All That You Love Will Be Carried Away” is a lonely little tale about a lonely little man, contemplating the nature of life itself in a dingy Motel 6 on a wind-swept Nebraska plain. This is perhaps the most affecting tale of the collection, and its pleasingly ambiguous ending avoids the kind of temptation to which a writer who delights in doom scenarios might easily succumb.

“I don’t know if it’s good or not,” King writes at the end, “but I cared very much for the lonely man at the center and really hope things turned out OK for him.”

Less enthralling is “Lunch at the Gotham Cafe,” whose bloody denouement lends itself to the book’s dust jacket art. The premise Eurotrash maitre d’ turns violent in midtown Manhattan eatery is ludicrous, but King’s prose usually rises above implausible premises. This time, even his crackerjack eye for detail can’t save the tale.

“That Feeling, You Can Only Say What It Is In French,” a story of deja vu, shows potential but ends up being confusing and impenetrable. And “The Road Virus Heads North,” a typically terrifying King tale set against a New England backdrop, starts out strong and rich with detail but loses itself in an abrupt, predictable ending.

Easily the best story, however, is “The Death of Jack Hamilton,” which follows the Dillinger gang through a particularly rough period in its existence. The tone and dialogue is dead-on, and King’s self-restraint makes it a particularly compelling slice of 1930s underworld life.

Fans of King’s recurring “Dark Tower” series will be pleased to note that he not only has a related story in this collection (“The Little Sisters of Eluria”) but also announces that another “Dark Tower” novel is imminent. Here, too, is “Riding the Bullet,” his notorious venture into e-books now committed to paper.